The Endless Sea
by jenhill7
Summary: August, 1924. Eight months ago, Lady Skaldenfoss nearly lost her life in an accident that has left her paralyzed and bed-ridden. All hope seems lost until Miss Wolff comes into her life. But this new therapist is not who she seems, and she carries a secret that will change Lady Skaldenfoss forever. ELSANNA, AU, slow burn, eventual fluff. Historical fiction of post-war Norway.
1. Chapter 1 - Hope

**Chapter One – Hope**

"Is your mother not joining us for luncheon?" Lily asked as Johan sat down to dine from the _koldt bord_ of meats, cheeses, and smoked fish. Outside it was an atypically bright and gorgeous August day in the year of our Lord 1924, but inside the walls of _Iskall Slott_ on the coast of Norway, the mood was quiet and morose.

Johan stifled the inward twist of pain that always accompanied any mention of his mother these days. "Nurse Adelsson said that she is resting."

"Johan, surely you see that this cannot continue," Lily continued, flicking her napkin over her lap and smoothing it over her dress. She was undeterred by the hard glance he threw at her. God knows she had become immune to any of his hard glances over the four years of their marriage. She had been easier on him since the sudden death of his father eight months ago, but she could not bear the atmosphere in this house any longer.

Sympathy didn't always have to be a dove. It could be a sword as well. A fact that Johan's mother's nurses should know, but obviously they didn't.

"And just what do you expect me to do about it?" Johan asked, his voice sharper than he would like.

"I would expect you to hire a new doctor. A new set of nurses. Anyone, really, that could help relieve your mother from her unending pain without drugging her out of her wits with laudanum!"

"I will not discuss the matter here," Johan hissed, staring at her before taking his fork in hand.

Lily glanced over at Helene, her sister-in-law. They had no other guests at their table. They had entertained far less these last eight months, and not strictly out of mourning for the late Baron Hans of Skaldenfoss. Of course they had servants hovering nearby, but Kai and Anders were as much family as any of their long-time staff. A castle such as theirs, especially this close to the capital of Norway, required much upkeep.

Besides, she had to have it out with her husband, once and for all. Precious time was passing, and his mother was not getting well. In fact, his mother might even be dying. Something had to be done, even if it meant shattering the unsteady peace of her husband.

"You will not discuss the matter anywhere, it seems," Lily replied, her tone acid.

"Really, Lily, just what do you want me to say?" Johan barked, flinging down his fork. "Do you want me to admit that my mother is in so much pain that she wishes she were dead? Do you need me to admit that there is no hope for her anymore, no hope now, no hope ever? Just what is it that you want me to do?"

Johan wanted his wife to back down, or for Helene to say something, but he knew that neither of those things would actually happen. His American wife had come with much-needed wealth for their estate and with an inflexible core of adamant as well, though she rarely flexed those dangerous claws. And Helene… Helene was still an unknown piece of the puzzle, sister-in-law or not. Six years of living under the same house had not cracked her open for his understanding.

His Lily's brown eyes were flashing with ire as she replied, "I will no longer just blindly trust Dr. Lund…"

"Who has been my mother's physician for the last thirty-some years," Johan couldn't keep from saying.

"He is not a specialist, Johan."

"Shall I recount the number of specialists who have treated her, Lily? From Copenhagen, from London, even from Paris?"

"Would you just listen to me? Your mother doesn't need another specialist. What she needs is a better nurse, a better therapist, someone who will raise her spirits and give her some hope!"

Johan was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his words were soft and filled with emptiness. "You think hope can still be found in this house? After what happened to Leif, and to Heidi?"

"Hope can be found in the oddest of places," Helene unexpectedly replied in her soft, lilting French voice. She flushed as she realized she had spoken aloud. Lily wished she could reach over and hug her, as fiendishly American a thing as that would be, and had to content herself with flashing Helene a warm smile.

That Leif's young widow could say such a thing gave Lily a thin edge of courage, courage to continue this very important miniature war with her husband.

Let the next volley begin.

"I've been speaking with Mother Magda at the hospital in town. We've been scouring the country for the last few weeks and have just discovered a special nurse and therapist who has recently come available in Trondheim."

Johan gave a short bark of laughter, gravelly and grim. "Mother Magda," he said, "is one step above a hedge witch!"

Lily glared at him. "Are you even listening to me, Johan? I am only trying to help!"

Johan wanted to listen to reason, he really did. He would do almost anything at this point to melt the shard of ice and fear that had taken permanent residence in his heart. He had suddenly become the Baron Skaldenfoss in January, had to pay death duties for his father's estate (which they could scarcely afford in this awful post-war world), and had to assume the mantle of responsibility that his father had worn so easily and so well. All while visiting the hospital in Oslo as often as possible to make sure his mother stayed alive and well cared for.

How had such tragedy befallen the Arendelle family in such a short period of time? Everything had changed since the outbreak of war in 1914. Despite Norway's strict neutrality regarding the war, both he and his younger brother Leif had served as officers in the merchant fleet. Leif even went all the way to France, only to be caught in the Spring Offensive of 1918 by the Germans. His legs amputated, he had been sent home to die, bringing his pregnant French bride with him. The matter of Helene staying at Iskall Slott to later give birth to and raise Leif's daughter had nearly torn his parents apart.

Johan had managed to survive being a ship's officer and first-mate during the war. He returned home with scars and memories so vicious and bloody he would never speak of them aloud. He was adjusting to the frosty relationship between his parents, he was learning to welcome Helene as a sister-in-law. The estates of Iskall suffered greatly; the family needed income from other sources and his father begged him to start searching for a wealthy American bride.

Amid all this turmoil, his search for a bride, this great divide between his parents, this uncertainty of his future, the Spanish Flu came to Norway, and to Iskall Slott. Two maids of the house died. And so did his younger sister, Heidi.

Leif and Heidi both dead within a single year. Ingrid, Heidi's twin sister, had been inconsolable. His mother, normally cheerful, fell into near silence and withdrew to her chambers. His father retreated to his office and worked insane hours at the _Storting_ parliament in Oslo.

As a young man, an officer in the merchant navy, Johan had come to believe in _time._

Only time could heal this family. Six years had passed since the end of the war and the deaths of his siblings, and life was just starting to get good again. Oh, his parents never seemed to be as happy as he remembered from his childhood, but he believed that time alone would smooth the rough edges of their marriage. They had been ecstatic when he finally asked Lily to marry him; his savvy American wife knew that she was bringing her wealth to save the estate, but she also seemed to love Johan greatly.

It was only after he fell in love with Lily and married her that Johan saw his parents with new eyes. He knew that they had married to join estates and strengthen bloodlines. They had wed out of duty and obligation, but surely love had grown between them in all the years and the children that had been borne since?

Johan had watched them carefully these last three years, with deepening concern. Watched them only to see their relationship deteriorate even further, for no reason he could fathom. They slept in separate bedrooms. His father spent much time away from home. Would nothing bring them together again?

So when Johan had sent his prayers up into the night sky above the castle, he hoped that God would not ask more of them. Surely He would send no more destroying angels to the Arendelle family.

Johan had thought wrong.

January of 1924 had proved it.

Just yesterday evening, Johan had gone into his mother's bedchamber to talk about the events of the day, as had become their custom, and found her weeping into her pillow. When he tried to ask her what was wrong, she spoke words that would haunt him to his dying day. Words that he had not yet shared with his own wife. He didn't dare repeat them aloud.

 _"_ _Please, oh please let it be over, Johan. I can't bear this life any longer. My son, I'm sorry, but you must let me die!"_

What does a first-born son say to that?

Johan knew very little about medicine beyond the basic training provided to all officers during the war. Ever since his mother came home from Oslo to convalesce, he had watched her spiral down a slippery slope of infections and depression. All of their well-paid and supposedly well-qualified nurses were as incompetent as he in bringing her any relief outside of the dangerously addictive laudanum.

So why should this nurse of Lily's be any different?

And what the hell was a special therapist anyway?

Johan opened his mouth to protest but Lily rode right over him. "Her name is Miss Wolff, she comes from Canada, and she has been very highly recommended."

Johan felt like deflating under this prick of pressure from his wife. With some effort he replied, "And what do you desire of me? To invite her here for an interview? To see if she can possibly do any better than the three nurses we have already hired and fired in the past six months?"

"No. All I want of you is to join me in the interview with her that is taking place this afternoon," Lily said, calmly taking a bite of food.

Johan paused in shock. "You mean you have already invited this woman for an interview? Without my permission?"

"Your permission?" Lily repeated, that core of adamant flexing dangerously in her voice. "When she may be the one who saves your mother's life, I hope you remember that you told me to ask for your permission." Lily strengthened her argument by huffing aloud.

Johan could see a ghost of a smile on Helene's lips, but he ignored her to focus on his wife and the news she had just given him. "Well, when is this interview?" he asked, hoping Lily couldn't hear the fear he tried to hide with his contentiousness.

"She is due on the 2 o'clock train from Oslo, where she broke her journey last night. It's a long way from Trondheim. Kristoff will be leaving just after luncheon to fetch her from the station."

Johan stared at Lily a long time; a stare that she returned, spark for spark. Not that he should have expected less from his fiery wife. "Don't get your hopes up, Lily. None of us should."

Both women seemed shocked by his statement. Well they should.

Eight months had passed since the day that catapulted Johan into a baronetcy he didn't want, though he had been preparing for it his entire life. Eight months since the accident that so suddenly erased the future the family had been trying to create together. They had just been learning how to navigate this post-war world of financial storms and political unrest and missing family members. Johan had been learning how to live without Leif and Heidi; they had been so abruptly amputated from his life that he still felt their phantom presence.

Now he had to deal with the amputated ghost of his father's future, so suddenly snatched away. He had to adjust to his mother's altered circumstances, the life she would no longer be able to have. Her death wish revolved endlessly in his mind.

These were the spirits that turned gangrenous within him, infecting him with despair and anguish so unbecoming a Baron of the Kingdom of Norway.

His parents should have had a trip home from Oslo like any other, like the hundreds they had taken time and again over the years. They had gone to the capital just after Christmas to visit his sister Ingrid and her husband and to meet their newborn granddaughter. Johan and Lily had not joined them for this visit to the city for Lily had been pregnant with their second-born child at the time; a fact that had not escaped him in many sleepless nights since.

That it could have been all of them on the tracks that January day. Johan still shivered to think of it. He thought of his own fiery Lily, doused and dying, there on the snow.

But no. God reached out his hand and took Hans Arendelle, Baron of Skaldenfoss, just as He had taken Leif and Heidi a few years before.

Johan wanted to hope for a better future. He wanted things to change, to be as they were in the past.

With his father dead and gone Johan desperately wanted his mother back. Back the way she used to be, when she brought life and laughter into their home. He wanted to watch his parents dance near the Christmas tree, he wanted to see them exchange quick kisses of affection on cheeks as they parted to the duties of the day. He wanted his mother to resume her place of guidance and exuberant support in his life, just as she had done for as long as he could remember.

But each time Johan dared to hope, his hope had been broken.

Just like Anna Arendelle's legs.

And back.

And skull.


	2. Chapter 2 - Truth

**Chapter Two - Trust**

Johan would not look at the clock in the library, and Lily pointedly did not as well. Kristoff, their driver, had left just after luncheon to pick Miss Wolff up from the station in nearby Larvik. It was a short drive from Larvik to their estate, where Iskall Slott overlooked the Skagerrak strait, which separated Norway from the northernmost peninsula of Denmark. Helene had been invited to stay with them for tea; to Johan's surprise the young French woman agreed and sat next to Lily on the couch near the fireplace.

Damn women and their solidarity!

Johan felt nervous about meeting yet another caregiver who would give them all sorts of promises before requesting near-outrageous sums for their services. Both Dr. Lund and Mother Magda had lectured him thoroughly on the dangers of overusing painkillers like laudanum, but they had yet to provide a suitable replacement to ease his mother's pain.

As this impromptu interview approached, Johan found he didn't want his anger at the whole situation to spill out, even though that anger was a caged beast continuously prowling inside the bones of his ribcage.

This nurse, this Miss Wolff, deserved an impartial inquiry. Johan could do that, in memory of his deceased father. Even if his own wife had hoodwinked him.

In the fraught silence of the library, all of them could hear the crunch of gravel under the tires of Kristoff's car. The outer door must have opened. Some silence ensued.

Then.

Their butler, loyal Kai, opened the door and announced their guest, "Miss Wolff to see his Lordship and Lady Skaldenfoss."

They rose from their respective places as they watched a curvy, white-haired woman enter the room. Johan conducted an instantaneous inspection of the stranger even as he strode towards her to take her hand and introduce himself in person.

Miss Wolff had white-blond hair, but she obviously was not elderly; perhaps not even the same age as his mother. She wore a simple yet lovely dark blue dress and white gloves, though even now she was stripping off those gloves and her hat to hand them to Kai. Her clothes were the same upper-middle-class style that he had always associated with well-educated women such as Mother Magda; clothes that were well-maintained and in good cut and colour, yet without the embellishments of beads, silks, and embroidery that often separated the classes, even now in post-war Norway.

Miss Wolff certainly did not fit in the traditional classification of servant, and Johan distantly wondered if she would keep herself as absent from the rest of the household as the other live-in nurses had over the last six months.

Why had these caregivers proved so aloof, and so inadequate to the task of rehabilitating his mother? Up to this point, he had always considered it their fault and found no blame in firing them.

But with his mother's last confession in his mind, her secret death wish, now Johan wondered… had Anna simply been able to intimidate them all? She was certainly capable; Johan had seen her wield incredible power over her father and the staff over the years, albeit with incredible warmth and laughter and compassion. Had she wielded her power and position over them, these hapless nurses? He would never have believed it before the accident. Back then, his mother would have been incapable of such actions.

The accident… changed everything.

So Johan shook Miss Wolff's hands and noticed that she had strikingly blue eyes and a tall and curvy beautiful figure. If Johan had to guess her age, a perilous action in the least for the young man, he would place her in her late thirties or early forties; perhaps just older than his own thirty-four years. It would make her younger than most of the nurses who had come to care for Anna Arendelle.

Yet when he took her hand to shake it, her grip was firm, and even slightly calloused. This was a working hand, and he felt surprisingly comforted by it.

Johan gestured to the pair of couches that were near the fireplace. After the women had introduced themselves, the four of them sat down together. "Would you care for some tea?" Lily asked, as was her right as the current Lady of the House. Their primary footman, Anders, was already laying out the tea and then he stood back ready to serve.

"That would be much appreciated, thank you," the woman answered, her voice slightly deeper than he anticipated. Her accent was a little strange, somewhat broader and slightly more foreign than Lily's. Trained in aristocracy and peerage at a young age, Johan tried to reconcile this accent to the knowledge that this woman was Canadian.

Something… was strange. Something didn't fit.

Suspicion filled him. Who was this woman? What was her full name?

His family seemed oblivious. Lily did the honours of pouring the tea, adding both cream and sugar at the woman's request, and handed her the cup.

When all the company had tea in their hands, a moment of strange silence reigned. Johan shot a glance at Lily who had started all of this but to his surprise, it was Helene who spoke first. "You are from Canada, Miss Wolff?" his sister-in-law asked. "May I ask what part?"

"I am originally from Alberta, which is now a province in the west of the country," the unknown woman explained, "but I did spend some time in Montreal, and later in France." She spoke the names with a decided French accent, and Helene actually smiled.

This woman. Leif's widow. She _smiled._

Johan wanted to fall out of his chair. Helene's smiles were rare things. Like snowfall in July, or rainbows without storms.

He had seen her cast one such smile upon his brother, Leif, once. When Leif had been dying of sepsis, his strange amputated legs under the covers, yet he had stretched forth a hand to stroke Helene's belly, where his unborn daughter lay sleeping.

Helene had smiled then as if smiles were gold and rainbows and northern lights all at once. Johan had seen that smile, given to his dying younger brother, and he forgave all slights, all misgivings he had held at Leif bringing home this anonymous French bride.

He and his mother had been there to witness this moment, this smile that somehow transected all barriers, overcame all class boundaries.

At that moment he understood his mother's war with his father. Hans had only wanted to send Helene and the 'offspring' home to Reims. Helene did not belong, and would never belong, not to this family. Not in his fathers' eyes.

Anna had fought tooth and nail to keep Helene at Iskall Slott. Love was love, she said, and must never be denied. Not by him, not by anyone. And there was no way Helene would raise Leif's baby alone or so far away.

Helene couldn't have been oblivious. Not that night that Leif lay dying of blood infection. She must have known of the war waging between Lord and Lady Skaldenfoss.

So how was it possible that Helene gave this stranger the same sort of smile she once gave her dying husband? Johan's only brother?

"Parlez-vous francais, madame?"

"Oui, je parle un peu de francais, madame," Miss Wolff replied, speaking slowly and carefully before granting them all a small and exquisite smile. "I must apologize, my French is quite rusty."

Johan's ears picked up the strange slang and thought he understood what the woman meant; her French wasn't much used. "What brought you to Norway, Miss Wolff?" Johan asked.

She swiveled her head to look at him. "Strange circumstances and coincidences, to be quite honest, Lord Skaldenfoss. I served in France during the war as part of the Voluntary Aid Detachment, and then I spent a few years in India under the tutelage of a Master of oriental healing practices. I returned to Norway a year ago. India… taught me a great deal. After India, I was ready to return."

Johan could feel Lily twitch next to him. His wife was fascinated by the sub-continent, and he already knew that she would want to ask Miss Wolff a million questions. "When were you first in Norway, then, Miss Wolff?" Johan quickly asked, hoping to forestall any side conversations.

"I was here in 1912, my Lord, visiting distant relatives. It was my father who had immigrated to Canada, which means I still have some family in Norway." For some reason, the words came out rushed, nearly rehearsed. She gave them a quick smile and continued, "I had considered staying for some time, but a simple fishing life was beyond me. I had already completed my training as a nurse and wanted to see more of Europe. So I traveled for two years until the war broke out."

How interesting this woman was! Even Johan wanted to ask further questions, but time was no longer his friend, and his mother was dying.

Even at this very moment, Anna Arendelle was dying.

"I understand that you have been working in Trondheim," Johan said.

"Yes, Lord Skaldenfoss. You are probably familiar with the family I served. I had been the caregiver for the youngest son of the Earl of Galthe. Sadly, he passed away a week ago, just shy of his fourteenth birthday."

"My God, that was Harald, wasn't it? Harald Andersson," Johan said, his father's endless lessons in Norwegian peerage easily supplying him this information.

"Yes, my Lord."

"I didn't even know that he was sick."

"The family kept his illness quiet, my Lord. Once they realized the extent of the consumption, they wanted to maintain a sense of peace, for Lord Harald's sake as well as their own."

Johan turned to regard his cup of tea, his heart suddenly sinking. He couldn't blame Miss Wolff's last charge for dying of consumption; it was a disease with a nearly certain death sentence.

Wait.

"There is no chance you are carrying the disease, is there?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound ignorant. He knew from his years at service that consumption was an infectious disease.

Miss Wolff flashed him a smile to reassure him as she said, "I have been vaccinated against the disease, which is a new technology that has come out of France, and I have passed all my regular check-ups. Indeed, I have cared for other consumptive patients since the war. There is no danger, my Lord, of my passing on an infection to the Dowager Baroness."

Johan felt Lily subtly dig her elbow into his ribs. It was a light touch but meant to chastise him for his ignorance.

Lily spoke up, "That must have been difficult for you, Miss Wolff. To lose someone you had been caring for."

"Indeed it was, Lady Skaldenfoss. It is never easy losing someone you come to love."

The words fell with some weight into the silence of the room. Johan thought of his father, and how Hans would have handled a conversation like this; certainly with more charm and finesse than his mealy-mouthed son. How to maneuver the conversation toward the essentials, to discover if this woman had the spirit and the talent to help heal and rehabilitate his mother?

It turned out that he didn't have to.

Their guest took another sip of tea and then asked, "May I inquire as to whether the Dowager Baroness will be joining us?"

"My mother is… resting," Johan said.

Miss Wolff looked right at him. Her eyes were so blue and keen, cutting right through his subterfuge. "My Lord, please forgive my coming indelicacy, but is that really true? Is she sleeping?"

"Why do you ask?" Lily asked.

The slight white-haired woman looked right at Lily and gave her a small but strong smile. "I only ask, Lady Skaldenfoss, because if the Dowager Baroness is ill, or in pain, or in need of assistance, then I beg of you to allow me to see her. Isn't that why I am here? To help her? I promise that you can grill me on my qualifications later."

Lily shot a quick look at Johan, for once as if asking his permission, and he nodded. "If only you could help her…" Lily began.

"I will do my best, my lady." Miss Wolff set down her cup of tea and stood from the couch.

A little startled by the suddenness of her movement, everyone else stood as well. Lily began to call for Kai, but Johan put a hand on his wife's shoulder. "I'll take her up myself, Lily."

 _It's the least a son could do_ , he thought.

…

Elsa Wolff took up her kit and followed the young Lord, marveling at being inside this grand house. Iskall Slott was an actual castle, albeit a small one, set upon a hill that overlooked the strait. A hundred kilometers south of the capital of Oslo, in ancient times it had provided fortification and defense, though now it was a house of luxury and comfort.

It was large, it was crowded with artwork and gilded furniture and priceless heirlooms, and yet Elsa sensed a faint undercurrent of unease as if the house itself was unsure of its place in this world. The Andersson family had also been wealthy and part of the Norwegian aristocracy, but Elsa had treated Harald at their country house, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the estate near Trondheim.

As Elsa walked behind Lord Skaldenfoss, her eyes gobbled up the ornate woodwork, the sculptures and artwork, and the precious chandeliers. She had seen many strange and beautiful things since leaving Canada many years ago, and since encountering the thunderstorm that forever altered her life, but never anything quite like this.

Lord Skaldenfoss led up her a wide flight of stairs, and immediately Elsa wondered why the Dowager Baroness did not have a room on the main floor, so she did not have to constantly navigate stairs. Had no one else thought to ask? Had no other caregiver insisted? Just what kind of care had the Dowager Baroness received thus far?

The young Lord continued down a gallery that overlooked the main hallway and then turned a corner. He paused just outside a closed door. "If she's asleep…" he began to say.

Elsa could hear a broken note of heartache in his voice. Dowager Lady Skaldenfoss would not be sleeping very well most nights, Elsa could well imagine. Pockets of rest during the day would be necessary, but never enough. In the face of his anxiety, Elsa took a single long breath and nodded. It seemed to give courage enough to the young man.

As was their custom, he knocked very lightly on the door and then proceeded to enter, Elsa on his heels.

Elsa's eyes quickly scanned the room and came to rest on the suffering Anna Arendelle.

The Dowager Baroness lay on her side facing the center of her four-posted bed, her hands gripping the sheets in white-knuckled fists. Her breath was shallow and fierce. Sweat beaded her brow, and her eyes were screwed shut. Elsa could see that she was weeping, yet she remained nearly soundless in her misery and pain. Her entire body was slight and withered; her skin was sallow, her red hair coming loose from two simple braids, and all the movement in her body happened in her upper torso.

Elsa's heart lurched to see the silent face of such immense suffering. A thread of anger spooled within her, where was the nurse who was oblivious to her lady's agony?

So Elsa continued scanning the room and saw another woman, dressed in the habit of a nurse, sitting on a chair near the window with a loop of embroidery on her lap. The nurse's eyes grew wide and surprised as they came fully into the room.

"Lord Skaldenfoss? I wasn't expecting you…" the woman said quietly.

"I see that you were not," Lord Skaldenfoss said, cutting her off. "Could you excuse us please, Nurse Adelsson?"

A red flush of anger and embarrassment covered her face, and the stout nurse took up her embroidery to leave the room. Just before she left, Elsa spoke up. "Nurse Adelsson, when did you last give her ladyship laudanum?"

The nurse's eyes flashed between the young Lord and the form of his suffering mother, before coming to rest on Elsa's. "An hour ago it was," she said. "The lady had been begging for it."

"An hour. Thank you." With this one glance, Elsa could see evidence of the opiate in the lady's system. Laudanum caused a certain spasm of the hands, a particular brightness and colour of breath. Elsa had seen many others afflicted with opiate addiction during the war and the years since, and she hoped with all her heart that the Dowager Baroness had not been using steadily for the last eight months. The withdrawal alone would be terrible to experience.

And although Elsa knew that her interview was in progress, that she was on trial now for this position, all she could feel were familiar waves of compassion and empathy for the pained woman before her. "Lord Skaldenfoss, if I may be so bold to ask, could you close both sets of window shutters? We must cut the amount of light in the room." Even as she spoke Elsa was moving around the large bed, noticing a jug of water and a basin nearby, along with a small stack of clean towels. Thank God for miniscule miracles.

Lord Skaldenfoss readily did as she requested. Elsa turned all her attention to the older woman in the bed as the bright light in the room began to ease. "Now my lady, this is a strange voice you are hearing for the first time, but please do not open your eyes or try to get up. We won't be standing on any social ceremonies at the moment." Elsa used a calm and rhythmic tone of voice, honed from years of practice.

As she spoke, she poured water into the basin and dipped the towel into it. She wrung it out as she continued to speak. "I know you might not be able to hear or understand me very well, my lady, but please just hear the sound of my voice. Just listen and don't worry about anything else. Everything will be all right in a moment, my lady. I have a nice cool cloth here that I'm going to place on the back of your neck, no, you don't need to move, my lady, let me serve you, I'll just pull your hair aside, just like that."

Elsa performed the actions as she spoke of them, gently lifting the braids of red hair streaked with strands of grey and placing the damp cool towel on the back of the lady's neck. "My name is Miss Wolff, my dear lady, Elsa Wolff. I'm from Canada, though the full story of how I came to be in Norway is something I will save for another day. There is time for all stories to be told, my lady, because there is always time for all good things. Believe me, my lady, for I know this well."

For his part, Johan just stood back and watched this unknown woman take complete charge in a matter of moments. She had done something to her voice in speaking to his mother, something that did not treat Anna as an invalid or a child. She was using a voice that was simple and womanly and incredibly warm, with a tone of voice that an old friend might use. It was not the condescending or somewhat distant voice of a doctor, nor the sugary hesitation of some of the nurses.

It nearly broke his heart yet again to hear his mother weeping so great was her pain. They were quiet, mewling cries, like lambs lost in cruel darkness. In his visits with her over the last eight months, he had heard a dozen variations of her tears, and it was this particular cry that devastated him most. This was a cry of abject surrender and utter defeat, a cry that begged for release to come in any way imaginable, even death.

This was a cry that knew with edged clarity that the other half of her heart and her life was gone, Hans was gone forever, and her life would never, could never be the same.

Anna and Hans had fought, of course they had, and Johan had seen his father treat his mother with certain derision and disdain. But they had also danced together, and often slept in the same bedroom together, and managed the affairs of the estate together. They had loved each other, of that Johan was quite certain. So how did his mother cope with the loss of everything that had once provided the foundation for her very life?

God, if this is how Anna felt even after taking the laudanum, how could she bear the pain without it?

Miss Wolff continued talking. He was glad he now knew her full name, though they would address her by her last name as was their custom. Elsa – it seemed to suit her. "I'm going to be quiet again in a moment, my lady, but I do have a few short questions to ask you. You don't have to open your eyes. You don't have to control your crying, yes, I heard you trying my dear, but please don't. There can be truth between us, you and I." The therapist moved around the bed to sit on the edge facing Anna. "If you would please allow me, my lady, may I take one of your hands? Move slowly, my heart. Take your time. Let me anchor you, you are not lost alone upon the sea, not any longer."

Johan felt a little shocked by the endearments that flowed from this woman's mouth. None of the other nurses had treated his mother so familiarly.

Nor with such immediate warmth and caring.

Yet a few moments later Anna relaxed her grip on the sheets and took Miss Wolff's hand. Anna had not yet opened her eyes, and tears kept rolling soundlessly down her cheeks and into the pillow.

"All right my dear one, my lady, whenever you are ready just give my hand a little squeeze. Take your time, there is no rush here, it's nice and cool and quiet now, and my voice is so soft, so light, like a gentle ocean breeze. Like a breeze, let my voice flow over you. Let it ground you, let it bring you back to the shore. Do not hold onto the words I speak, do not try to understand me or respond. My voice is the breeze itself, my heart, and we can never catch the breeze with our hands. Hear my voice and when you are ready you may squeeze my hand as if you were holding the precious hand of your own grandbabies. Ah, there we are. That's how I know you can hear me, my lady."

Johan continued to listen in fascination as the woman before him somehow harnessed his mother's weeping with the smooth rhythm of her speech, bringing those cries down from their fast and piteous mewling to slow gulping sobs.

"Now, dear heart, I am going to list some places where you might be in pain. I'll go slowly. Please squeeze my hands if you are feeling pain in those areas. Don't open your eyes unless you want to, don't speak unless you are ready to. I am here to serve you, my lady, and in this room time is meaningless. Now. Do you hurt in your head, your shoulders, your middle back, your lower back, your chest, your abdomen, your legs, or your feet?"

Johan felt a distinct twinge as Miss Wolff spoke. He wanted to barge in, and tell Miss Wolff that his mother couldn't feel anything in her legs or feet; she was paralyzed from the waist down, for God's sake! But he kept his tongue and his temper as the therapist spoke.

Elsa Wolff was barely aware of Lord Skaldenfoss watching her, evaluating her speech, her movements. She existed only for Anna Arendelle, nothing else mattered.

And Lady Skaldenfoss had squeezed her hand, so faintly yet so deliberately, after at least half of the words she had spoken.

"Dear lady, take a few deep breaths and tell me, only when you are ready, where does it hurt you the most?" Elsa's eyes were focused on the chapped lips. Almost imperceptible was the movement that created the first words she heard Anna Arendelle speak.

Her voice was husky, and soft, and broken. She spoke only two words, but those words tugged at something deep inside Elsa Wolff.

"My head."

Elsa nodded. Lady Lily had mentioned the injuries that beset the Dowager Baronesss in their initial inquiries. This poor woman before her had suffered a broken right femur and left tibia. Her legs had only come out of their casts and traction six weeks ago. She had suffered a hairline fracture of the skull, cracked ribs, and a fractured vertebra of the spine as well. She was paralyzed from the waist down, and the doctors said that she would never stand on her own two feet again.

No more dancing for Anna Arendelle, Lady of Skaldenfoss.

Well, Elsa Wolff would see about all of that.

But first things first.

With uncharacteristically bright Norwegian sunlight pouring into this room before her arrival, small wonder that her lady's head would be fit to burst, even with a dose of opiate. Elsa would have thrown that nurse out herself had not the Baron done it.

"My Lord," she said quietly, turning her head to look at Johan Arendelle, not releasing his mother's hand, "I have a salve in my bag. It is an ointment of eucalyptus and mint, among other things. With your permission, I would like to administer it to Lady Skaldenfoss's temples and forehead. It is an external medication only."

"Please, do what you think is best," he instantly replied.

Elsa was about to release Lady Skaldenfoss's hand in order to reach into her kit, but was surprised to feel the lady clutch at her hand even more tightly. "Don't go," Lady Skaldenfoss whispered, her eyes still closed.

"Hush, my dear one, I'm not going anywhere," Elsa whispered as she turned back to her lady, cupping her hand with both of her own.

It was a small movement, so understated in its simplicity, but the purity of it struck straight into Johan Arendelle's heart. In mere minutes, this particular therapist had managed to impress him more than anyone else he had encountered in the long months since the accident.

So Johan lifted Miss Wolff's bag from the floor and put it next to her. The therapist shot him a grateful smile even as she then rummaged, one handed, into her bag for the salve. When she removed it from the bag, she then hesitated; he took it from her long enough to open it and hand it back to her. If his mother didn't want to let go of Miss Wolff's hand, then she wasn't going to have to let go.

"Thank you, my lord," Miss Wolff quietly said. She put a dollop of thick white cream on the tip of her finger and then began gently rubbing it on Anna's temple. Anna still hadn't released Miss Wolff's other hand, so Miss Wolff had to work one-handed. Again, the obvious tenderness and care she used with his suffering mother struck deep chords of respect in his heart. Maybe she could actually help Anna where no one else could.

No, it was too early to tell. Let the impromptu interview continue. His mother's convalescence aside, how many times could Johan's hopes be broken?

"My lord, this next part might take some time," Miss Wolff said in a low voice as she gently turned Anna's head to apply the salve to her other temple. "This salve will help to restrict the blood vessels leading to the brain, bringing down the pressure that is leading to her headache. Then there are certain pressure points in her hands and feet, and along her back and spine, that I can touch that will also bring down her pain. I should like to stay here until her ladyship is feeling better. By all means, I would welcome a witness or chaperone to remain in the room with me while I progress through the treatment."

"I shall send up Gerda, she is my mother's lady's maid," Johan replied, inwardly grateful and still impressed by Miss Wolff's honesty and intentions. He started to leave, but then stopped before the door.

Anna had stopped crying. Johan had not known how much it hurt him to hear his mother crying, how it resounded like a wave of artillery against the fortress of his heart until the sound softly ceased.

In the moment of strange silence that ensued, he could hear gulls crying out across the water, and the sound of waves breaking peaceably against the shore at the base of the cliff below Iskall Slott. These were beloved sounds, the sounds of his youth and childhood, where he had a brother and sisters and parents who loved him, before the war came, before change came, before came a certain wintery dawn along train tracks of iron and snow and blood.

The shutters of his mother's bedroom were closed, yet he allowed a ray of hope, slim and faint, to enter his heart.

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy this silence, to hear the softness of his mother's breath, to see her body slightly relax into her bed. He had an apology to offer to his wife for his earlier belligerence.

"Thank you, Miss Wolff," he whispered into this gentle and fertile silence.

The still unknown and unfamiliar woman lifted her head. She really was quite striking, with a long pale neck to accompany her pale hair, and her deep blue eyes. He could sense immense history and immense heartache in those eyes; they looked like a sea he had once witnessed as an officer of the naval fleet, a sea in which a full harvest moon had kissed the surface of placid waves, sending ripples of cobalt and silver off into the unseen horizon. He had been transfixed by the sight; that was the moment that God whispered to him, whispering of things that were, things that are, and things that could be.

If only he could have seen this. He could have been better prepared. Why had the moon kept all this from his sight?

"It is my pleasure, my lord," Miss Wolff replied. The words were formulaic, but Johan could actually hear sincerity behind them. He paused long enough to pull the cord that would alert Gerda down in the servant's quarters, nodded once more to Elsa Wolff, and then exited the room. Lily was waiting.

Elsa did not wait for the door to close before she resumed her work, gently rubbing the salve onto her lady's forehead and temples. She worked slowly and carefully, immensely pleased to find Lady Skaldenfoss's body relaxing a little more into her mattress, her weeping down to an occasional hiccup and broken breath.

The smell of eucalyptus was strong in the room; a completely foreign scent here in Norway. Elsa breathed deeply, thinking of Greece and walking through great groves of spicy smelling trees.

Elsa even thought briefly of the woman whose hand she had been holding that day.

Elsa had set the vial aside when the door opened and a large, soft and affable woman came into the room.

"Please forgive me for not rising," Elsa said, taking both of Lady Skaldenfoss' hands again while rubbing them lightly with the salve, applying pressure to certain points on her palm and wrists. "I am Elsa Wolff, and it is a pleasure to meet you."

"I am Gerda Henriksen, and the pleasure is mine," came the immediate response. Gerda hovered a step away, dressed in a simple green dress. She was perhaps Elsa's age, for there were stories innumerable in the faint lines around her mouth and neck, and in the depth of her eyes. Elsa liked her immediately. "How is her ladyship?" came the anxious question.

"I believe a slight improvement has been made," Elsa replied, looking tenderly at her charge in the bed. It was true that the abject sobbing had stopped, though the hands she held still reflexively clenched and released in her own, mirroring perhaps the waves of pain that still crested through her lady's body.

"I do not wish to disturb either of you. Shall I sit over here?" Gerda asked, gesturing to the chair by the window where the previous nurse had been sitting.

"Please, Lady Henriksen…"

"I'm no lady. You may address me as Gerda. Everyone else does."

Elsa smiled even as she inwardly chastised herself for calling this servant a lady. Had she learned nothing by living with Harald's family in Trondheim? These ancient social graces were still so hard for her! "All right. Would you wait just a moment, Gerda?"

Elsa looked down at Anna Arendelle. She caressed her lady's hand and spoke. "My dear Lady Skaldenfoss, I hope you are starting to feel better. I do have one other technique that I can use to bring your pain back to manageable levels. It may seem unorthodox, my lady, even arcane, but please, I believe it will help you. But only with your permission…"

Elsa suddenly drew in a breath and paused in her words, for Lady Skaldenfoss opened her eyes for the first time.

She opened her eyes, and Elsa tripped on them, and tumbled into them, and started to drown.

For Anna Skaldenfoss had teal eyes, the eyes of sunsets on seas, eyes of jewels hidden in dark slabs of stone, eyes of jeweled tiny birds that had fluttered around the monastery in India, and never had Elsa Wolff believed she would see eyes like these again!

 _God, help me!_

With sheer force of will, Elsa forced herself to look at this woman, with her graying red hair, the withered and slight and bent body in the sheets, to see her as she was. This was not an apparition from the past. This was real. This was now. This was Anna Arendelle, Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss.

This woman opened her eyes and looked up at Elsa. Her eyes were dark and wounded orbs in the dim light of the room, but Elsa couldn't help but see the tiniest spark of hope in them. It was truly only a spark, dimmer than a single candle in the voracious dark, for surely the Lady Skaldenfoss could fathom no more, not when pain had become the length and breadth of her days, the sharp edge of every grain of sand that passed through the hourglass of time.

Then Lady Skaldenfoss spoke three words, and Elsa instantly loved her for them.

"I trust you."

Unimaginable pity and empathy rose to obstruct Elsa's throat, and she could make no immediate reply. Images suddenly bombarded her mind; horses screaming with men as clods of mud and blood flew through the air, a pale face with red lips and teal eyes smiling among the backdrop of far mountains while primroses peeked through snow, and pebbles of a cave dislodging and falling to the ground as lightning struck and thunder roared and blackness pressed with insistent hands into Elsa's eyes and ears.

Elsa closed her eyes and took a breath, just as her Master in India had taught her.

And in that breath, everything extraneous fell away. Elsa fell in love with the present moment. With here, and now.

With the suffering lady before her, who looked to Elsa for salvation.

Elsa opened her eyes again and breathed in the gift of courage and trust that Lady Skaldenfoss had just given her. "Thank you, my lady," Elsa whispered.

A ghost of a smile fluttered at the edge of Lady Skaldenfoss's lips; the sight of it transformed her.

But then her face twisted in a grimace, her hand tightened in Elsa's grasp, and she closed her eyes even as she took a sharp inhale.

Right.

Elsa lightly squeezed her lady's hands before rising from the bed, aware of how long her lady clutched at them before reluctantly letting go. "I know you are in pain, my heart. I have a treatment for you, one that I learned in the high mountains of northern India, where snow blanketed the slopes and birds sang their brilliant songs. So, my dear lady, please stay exactly where you are, you don't need to move. I'm moving to the other side of the bed because I need to be behind you for this treatment to work. Now, strange as this may sound, I'm going to pull down your covers because I need to put my hands on your back and your neck. But first I will adjust your legs, for your spine to be as straight as possible…" Once again Elsa described the actions just before she undertook them, well able to see a measure of confusion and concern on Gerda's face. Elsa wondered if the same confusion and concern were upon Lady Skaldenfoss's face.

Gerda's eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the room and she watched the tableaux unfold with initial trepidation and unease. She could already tell that this stranger, this Miss Wolff, was a foreigner, though her accent differed slightly from Lady Lily's. Gerda was indignant at first; the temerity of this woman, to just strip aside the covers and start manhandling her dear ladyship, even with Anna's speculative by-your-leave! Gerda narrowed her eyes as she watched Miss Wolff gently straighten Anna's paralyzed legs before removing the towel that had been on her neck.

Then Miss Wolff looked at Gerda and asked, "Gerda, could you please sit where I had been seated? I will need your assistance in a moment."

Gerda nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed. Miss Wolff sat down on the other side; Anna was between them. She watched as Miss Wolff ran her fingers down Anna's spine, over the cloth of the light linen shift she wore, stopping at the very base of her lower back, all paralyzed and motionless as it was. Gerda had no idea if Miss Wolff had really trained in India, but her movements were confident and professional.

"You're doing so very well, my lady," Miss Wolff continued, "just continue to hear my voice, to breathe so gently, so deliberately. I'm going to do some light rubbing and then I'm going to apply some pressure along specific points on your back. If you please, my lady, take one of Gerda's hands and hold it. If the pain lessens, just hold it softer. If the pain increases, squeeze it, and Gerda will let me know. All right, my dear heart, here we go."

Gerda had never been in this kind of position before, but she didn't mind. She would have done almost anything to help ease her ladyship's pain. Anna reached for her hand, to hold it in a tense and painful grip, and Gerda's throat tightened in sympathy for this immediate pain, and all the months of pain in the past. She had witnessed so much of Anna's agony, starting from the day after her surgeries in Olso. Gerda had rushed to the city to care for her lady; she and Lady Ingrid spending as much time as possible in the hospital over the next two months.

Lady Anna had been comatose for her husband's funeral. She regained consciousness nearly a week after the accident. After two months she was deemed well enough to be transported home to Iskall Slott. This very bed had been rigged with traction for Anna's broken back and legs. She had seen Anna's frustration and misery as she was washed and bathed like the grandbabies up in the nursery. She watched Anna's spirit darken, her personality change, as she snapped at her caregivers and intimidated her nurses.

When Anna had finally come out of traction six weeks ago, and the casts removed from her legs, Gerda had thought the worst was finally over.

Gerda had been wrong.

X-rays at the hospital in Larvik proved that her bones had knit well enough, even that fracture of her vertebra in her back. It should have been clear sailing from that point, steady progress towards recovery, even if Anna would never walk again.

But an unseen blight had remained, a terrifying wound of Anna Arendelle's spirit. To Gerda's horror, she had started to witness Anna's decline; she ate less, she rarely left the room even in her wheelchair, and she rejected the efforts of her previous nurses in rehabilitating her atrophied legs.

Gerda held her lady's hand and wondered if this new nurse possibly had the fire of spirit to match that of Anna Arendelle. Miss Wolff was doing admirably so far, even if Gerda didn't fully understand just what she was doing. She watched as Miss Wolff rubbed small circles over the fabric covering her ladyship's lower back, and then Miss Wolff placed the heels of her palms and her thumbs on each side of Lady Skaldenfoss's spine. After a few minute,s Gerda could feel Anna release the pressure in her hands, showing that the pain was subsiding. Gerda wasn't sure what signal to use, so she nodded and looked at Miss Wolff, who accepted the unspoken information with a nod of her own.

The new nurse wasn't speaking any longer, but she was breathing quite deliberately. Gerda furrowed her eyebrows in confusion for only a moment, but then she understood. Anna had been breathing quite strangely when Gerda had first entered the room, but now it seemed that she was unconsciously trying to emulate the slow and deliberate breathing of Miss Wolff. Anna's breathing faltered and broke many times in the minutes that slowly passed as she attempted to achieve a solid rhythm with the nurse.

So Gerda watched as Miss Wolff slowly worked her way up Anna's spine, stopping again and again with infinite patience. The quiet in the room seemed to take on a sacred quality, as if it had finally become a true healing space. By the time Miss Wolff moved to the base of Anna's skull, her lady was breathing somewhat calmly, but her body was still somewhat rigid with pain.

Miss Wolff placed her thumbs into the little hollows at the base of Anna's skull, her hands wrapping around the woman's slight neck, the tips of her fingers pressing against the joints of Anna's jaw. Then she sat there, head bent slightly down, a small smile on her lips. And then Miss Wolff waited.

More long minutes passed, but they were minutes of gold and honey, not of darkness and tar. Gerda found that she was also somehow breathing in tandem with Miss Wolff.

Gerda could not deny it when it happened. It was clearer than the shuttered rays of daylight denied entry to her lady's bedchamber.

Anna Arendelle melted.

At once it seemed as if al the tension in her body simply slipped away. Anna's head dipped deeper into the pillow, and her slight and wizened frame relaxed in its entirety. She released her hold on Gerda's hand. Deep breathing became smooth and rhythmic in moments, like waves upon the sea, and Gerda watched as Anna slipped undeniably, beautifully, into true sleep.

Gerda looked at Anna in amazement, and then at Miss Wolff, who waited a full minute or two longer before carefully releasing her hold on Anna's neck and head. She carefully eased herself off the bed and motioned for Gerda to do likewise. Miss Wolff pulled up the thin coverlet and tenderly tucked it over Anna's sleeping form, giving Anna a quick caress on the shoulder as she did so. "Sleep well, my heart," Gerda heard Miss Wolff whisper.

Then Miss Wolff stood up, swaying slightly, her hand to her own back for a moment before she stretched and straightened fully.

"If you please, Gerda, I am happy to return to Lord and Lady Skaldenfoss," Miss Wolff whispered as she smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.

Gerda nodded and began to lead them both from the room. Just before the door, she looked once more at the sight of Dowager Lady Skaldenfoss sleeping quietly and peacefully in her bed.

A rare sight, this was. Gerda wanted to remember it, just in case it proved fleeting.

Then she escorted Miss Wolff from the room and carefully closed the door behind them.

...

 **Author's Note: I am still working on the original version of Dark Horse, but have had this story in my mind for some years. This is an experiment in fiction for me, I am trying out a different style of writing, and I hope you enjoy it.**

 **My apologies to any Norwegian person reading it who finds my version of events to be other than the truth. I did some research for this story, but in the end, it is fiction. I'll do my best to honour historical events while providing you all with a romantic story.**

 **As always, likes and reviews are appreciated! I plan on updating this story once a week, though we will start with two chapters, just to give you a good taste of what's to come.**

 **Yours, Jen**


	3. Chapter 3 - Battle

**Chapter Three – Battle**

Gerda led Miss Elsa Wolff back along the gallery and then down the stairs to the main floor. Gerda's husband, Kai, had been standing in the doorway connecting the main hallway with the library, and walked over to them as soon as they appeared. "Miss Wolff wishes to resume her conversation with his lordship, Kai," Gerda said.

"If you would follow me, Miss," Kai said in his warm voice. "Gerda, Lord and Lady Skaldenfoss are in the library. Please report to them while I make Miss Wolff comfortable."

Gerda nodded. Of course Johan and Lily would want to know everything about the encounter upstairs before resuming their conversation with Miss Wolff. She strode into the library, ducked her head in obeisance as Lord and Lady Skaldenfoss stood up from the couch by the fire, and took a seat across from them at their behest.

Where their father, Hans, had stood upon ceremony as much as possible, requiring titles and distance and submission, Anna had taught their children true manners and grace regarding the lower classes, subtly reminding them that they were all human, and there was no such thing as blue blood. Anna had insisted on using Christian names in the household and encouraged familiarity between her children and the rest of the staff.

Gerda, the daughter of a farmer, the wife of a butler, had loved Anna for it.

The accident had served to stitch this household even tighter together, for which Gerda was grateful. She adored Anna's children and grandchildren and was glad she had been part of their lives since before their birth. She had known Anna Arendelle from the moment she came to Iskall Slott as Hans' bride and had fallen for her immediately.

And that bastard Hans could rot in hell for all she cared. He had never deserved a woman of Anna's calibre and quality.

What he did to her… Gerda shuddered to think of it.

So Gerda sat down across from them even as Johan asked, "How is my mother, Gerda?"

"My Lord, your lady mother is sleeping peacefully."

His features melted slightly in relief, and Lily sighed. They took each other's hands. "What can you tell us about her methods?" Lily asked.

"I must admit that they seemed very strange and mysterious at first, my lady. There was a particularly sharp smell in the room when I first entered, and there was very little light to see by. Miss Wolff was rubbing something into Anna's hands as I entered, and we introduced ourselves. She explained her proposed treatment and asked Anna permission to conduct it. Your mother must have been coherent enough to reply, for she granted it.

"Miss Wolff bade me sit beside Anna on the other side of the bed. She pulled down the coverlet and straightened Anna's legs before sitting on the bed next to her. Then she began to rub various parts of Anna's back and to apply pressure with her fingers and the heels of her palms. She worked very slowly, very patiently, up and up Anna's spine, and I could see tension beginning to melt away in your lady mother's body. I held one of Anna's hands, waiting for signals of pressure or release that would indicate that her pain was going up or down. While she had clutched my hand quite strongly in the beginning, she released most of that pressure during the course of the treatment.

"Miss Wolff finally reached the base of Anna's skull. She seemed very gentle as she held Anna's neck and jaw and then she sat there for what seemed an eternity. Then, I could scarce believe it when it happened, but Anna just… melted. Every ounce of tension left her body. She released my hand, sank into her pillow and fell asleep moments later. My lord, it is the first peaceful sleep I have seen in her in, well, a very long time."

Gerda kept to herself the intimate caress Miss Wolff had placed on Anna's shoulder, the whispered entreaty for Anna to sleep well. It was a memory too sweet to be shared; Gerda wanted it only for herself.

Johan took a deep breath and released it slowly. "What else do you think of this prospective nurse, Gerda? I know my mother always valued your opinion."

"Miss Wolff seems incredibly warm and competent, and her methods obviously worked in this case. While it is too soon to say if she can rehabilitate your mother, the warmth of her spirit may be just what Anna needs. There is strength in this stranger, surely both of you sensed it as well…" Gerda trailed off as she saw both Johan and Lily nod.

"Anna needs this chance. She… I worry so much for her…" Gerda found tears clogging her throat.

Lily abruptly rose from the couch and touched Gerda's arm. "I know you do. We are so grateful for all you've done for her, in the hospital in Oslo, and here at home." She glanced back at Johan, who had also risen. "Thank you for your frank words, Gerda. We'll take them into consideration. You may go."

Gerda bobbed her head at both of them and left the room.

Lily looked at Johan and stretched out her hand. He took it, and kissed it, and held it.

A great swell of love crested through Lily's breast. While she hadn't overly cared for her father-in-law, Lily had come to adore Anna and knew that it was her mother-in-law's efforts that had created this good man she had married. Lily had been nervous to marry into nobility so far from her home, nervous that perhaps Johan cared only for the millions of dollars that she brought into their estate. Time had proven his love for her, and for the two children she bore him.

Perhaps a third child would come to them, joining her sons Olaf and Hans. Lily would welcome more children, for each child was as unique and lovely as a star upon the heavens.

"I believe that Miss Wolff has passed her interview," Lily said.

"I dare say so," Johan replied. "Have I apologized enough yet for my earlier behaviour?" He kissed her knuckles again.

"You can continue to apologize to me tonight," Lily purred. "For now, let's hire her before she has any chance of running away."

Holding hands, they left the library and entered the small sitting room. The therapist was standing and looking out of the window of the sitting room as they arrived. Lily looked at this woman again, with her sleek platinum-blonde hair coiled tightly on her head and beautiful figure, and hoped that she would look as fit and gorgeous when she neared her fifties. It would be impertinent to ask her age, but she seemed to be somewhere in her late forties.

What was Miss Wolff's story? It seemed impossible that such a talented and beautiful woman would not be married. Perhaps she was a widow. That would help explain the hidden sadness that seemed to lurk behind her eyes.

Johan cleared his throat, and Miss Wolff turned to face them. She blushed as she apologized, "Forgive me, my lord, I was just enjoying the view of your gardens. Iskall Slott is exquisite."

"You shall have plenty of time to explore them," Johan replied. "We should like to offer you the position of caring for and rehabilitating my mother."

Miss Wolff's face lit up with a smile. "My lord, I shall be pleased to accept, and to assume your mother's care. Thank you for the opportunity to serve her."

"When are you available to begin?"

"Immediately, my lord. I have… very few possessions. I left my bags in the care of the Larvik station master, in the hopes that I would be successful here today."

"We'll send Kristoff to the station to fetch them. Is there anything else you might immediately require?" Johan asked.

"I have heard some of the Dowager Baroness's story from my initial correspondence with Lady Skaldenfoss," Miss Wolff said with a nod in Lily's direction. Lily was glad that she had been perfectly frank in their letters, and had given Miss Wolff as much information as she herself possessed. "However, I should like to get familiar with my lady's entire case history. Who might be the most appropriate person to speak with in this regard?"

"Dr. Lund," Johan immediately replied.

"And Mother Magda," Lily quickly included. "Mother Magda is legendary around these parts, has extensive experience in nursing, and has often assisted our lady mother these past six months. They both work at the hospital in Larvik. If you wish, I could accompany you there right now."

"That would be ideal, thank you."

Johan was secretly glad that Lily took over this part of the proceedings. They would likely be at the hospital for an hour or two, and he hated hospitals. He watched them leave with Kristoff, and then he ducked back into the library where a stack of correspondence awaited him. He looked at that stack with some disgust and abruptly changed his mind.

He wanted to see this tiny miracle for himself.

He walked up the stairs, across the gallery, and then paused at his mother's door. He didn't knock, hoping that Anna was still sleeping. He opened the door, stepped in, and mostly closed it again, then waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim.

Johan had not fully known the weight of anxiety and misery that had lain upon his heart until it lifted somewhat at the sight of his mother sleeping.

Even from here he could sense the depth and purity of her sleep, and how rare this had been! All the lines of pain that had perpetually creased her forehead had been erased, and for a moment Johan could pretend that nothing at all had happened, that he was seeing his mother as he would have eight months ago.

Standing there in the darkened room, Johan allowed himself to slightly open the shutters of his own hope and dared to dream of the moment his mother would come back to life. He dared to dream of her as she had been, when she had handled the household with grace and humour, volunteered in the village, and managed the affairs of the War Widows Fund. Maybe one day she would even walk again, and that would be the day he would get his whole life back.

Another thought came to him and pierced him with a blade of agony.

It could never be as it was. Even if Anna walked again, she would walk alone. Hans was gone. Had his mother even had the opportunity to mourn her husband's death? Was she even aware of this still gaping hole in their lives? Even when she was awake and aware, Johan realized that Anna had grown new walls around herself and her circumstances. She rarely spoke about Hans. She rarely managed to come down the stairs in her wheelchair and sit to eat or visit with the family. She lived her entire miserable, pitiful life in the space of the four walls of her bedchamber.

In this miserable, pitiful bed, where his father used to sleep.

Johan felt the familiar grief clawing at his heart, and had to leave. He retreated from the room and closed the door ever so softly behind him.

And then he stood in the hallway some moments longer, telling himself to be thankful that his mother had been spared from death. To be grateful that he wasn't an orphan. He told himself to be glad that they had this chance, this last chance that somehow rested completely in the hands of a stranger named Elsa Wolff.

Please, oh God, please let this new therapist bring Anna back to life.

And then maybe, just maybe, they could all come back to life.

…

Johan returned to the library and his stack of correspondence. An hour later he once again ascended the stairs to check on his mother; Anna was still sleeping. Part of him wanted to be there when she woke, or near after, so she could reassure him that she had slept well and that she was feeling better. The other part of him chastised himself for such feelings of neediness. She was still entitled to her privacy.

But when another hour had passed, a slight sense of unease came over him. Anna had never slept for this long during the day. Had something happened? He had read of people achieving such a peaceful sleep that they passed away in the middle of it.

This thought, coupled with the death wish from before, frightened him enough for him to lose all concentration on his work. Johan finally rose, straightened his suit and tie, and went up the stairs once again to his mother's bedchamber.

Once again he opened the door a crack and started to peek in.

"Come in, Johan," he heard Anna say, her voice incredibly soft and weary. Johan stepped into the room and noticed that she must have just woken up. Anna was just now reaching for the triangle bar that had been installed over her bed, using it to pull herself up into a seated position. Johan had to will himself not to assist her; she had told him that she had to learn to do some things by herself.

Her breath seemed bright and fierce by the time she released the bar and used her hands to move her paralyzed legs into a more comfortable position. She then rested against the cushioned headboard of her bed with her eyes closed, her hand to her temples.

Johan came around the bed to sit on the chair that was at her dressing table. "May I turn on the lamp?" he asked. Anna nodded, and he switched it on, bringing warmth and light into this tightly shuttered space. "How are you feeling?" he asked. He looked her up and down; she was incredibly dishevelled from her long nap, and he told himself to send in Gerda as soon as possible.

"Better," Anna replied, almost absently, as she opened her eyes again.

Then her worn face changed, her mouth and eyes opening wider as she continued, "How remarkable. I feel better. Johan, was someone else here? I seem to recall something… but I was somehow so foggy…"

"Lily had conspired with Mother Magda to bring a new nurse here for an interview without informing me. Not ten minutes into the interview Miss Wolff asked to come and tend to you. She spent nigh on two hours with you this afternoon."

Anna blinked. "Really? I scarcely remember it. Oh, the pain was so bad today. Nurse Adelsson offered me laudanum several times, but I kept saying no. I remembered what Dr. Lund and Mother Magda had told me. I was scarcely aware that someone else had come in at all. I do remember a sharp smell, and a kind, soothing voice. Warm hands. Comfort."

Johan's initial flash of anger turned into a seething burn. The nurse had somehow dosed Anna with laudanum against her wishes. It was no longer an act of pity or compassion. Not when opiate addiction may have already begun. He forced his attention back to his mother's voice, for a note of wonder had entered it as Anna said, "I must have finally fallen asleep. And now, to wake with so little pain, it's remarkable."

Then Anna's eyes somehow cleared, and she looked right at him with a hard ferocity that was so new and unbecoming. "So, have you hired her?"

He heard something stiff and strange in her voice as she asked this question, and Johan had no idea what it was. He filed it away in his mind for later reflection and simply answered, "Yes, of course, I hired her. She and Lily are out conversing with Dr. Lund and Mother Magda even now."

"I see. What is her name?"

"Elsa Wolff."

"And where is she from?"

"Canada, actually. In the prairies. Alberta, I believe she said."

"I should like to meet her properly when she returns."

"Of course, mama. Can I get you anything right now?"

"A little more light, but just a little. Could you open one of the window shutters, just slightly?"

Johan rose to comply, and the moment his back was turned Anna winced and tried to adjust her position for her aching back. Then her son was at the window, opening it just a little wider at her prompting. By the time he turned back to her, Anna had settled again so carefully and so still; learned behaviours to assist in caging the beast of agony that prowled endlessly inside her broken body.

Her respite, that slim moment of relative peace that had been the unasked for gift of a newly hired nurse, was already gone.

It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to show her son how swiftly the pain had returned. Anna did not want to worry him. She was already ashamed of how she had broken down in front of him the night before, and said such horrifying things. They were quite horrifying indeed, because they were true.

Yet Anna had never intended on saying them aloud, least of all to her only son. Those thoughts should have been bricked up forever behind the new impenetrable fortress of her heart and tongue.

It was her death wish, and should not have been spoken aloud. What if it lost its power?

Anna needed it to fuel her passage over the endless sea.

So Anna sat, so quiet, so still, and tried to engage her son in light conversation, tried to pretend that she could go on living like this. Even though inside she was twisting with despair, with loss, and with her inherent deception.

How had her life turned out like this?

When Kai came, moments later, to announce that Lily and Miss Wolff were returning, Johan turned to her and asked, "Shall I send in Gerda first? I hate to say it, mama, but your hair needs tending."

Trust her well-groomed and fastidious son to notice such irrelevant things as hair. He so took after Hans that way. Hans had cared too much for fashion and grooming. Anna, always so free-spirited in her youth, had learned to obey him in these regards.

The consequences of disobedience had been… rather disastrous.

"Fine, you may send in Gerda first, and give Miss Wolff a few moments to refresh herself. I'll have Gerda summon her when we're ready."

Johan nodded and left to greet them. The moment he was gone, Anna closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillow and headboard, her heart withering in misery. Pain was radiating like a thick scar all down the length of her spine and into her partially paralyzed pelvis. It reached with burning fingers throughout her head, throbbing with cackling insistence where she had broken her skull.

Anna once believed that she was a strong woman. That she could withstand every storm this world could possibly throw at her. She had grown up loved and cherished and so very clumsy; all her indiscretions had been treated with indulgence and rarely with ire.

Then, only nineteen, she had been forced to marry. Her father was dying of a stroke and her family's estates were in jeopardy. Anna could keep her family's wealth and position only if she married. Hans was already a Baron (his father had died the year before) and he had been so charming, so intelligent and warm. He had waited until after their honeymoon to show his true colours.

For the sake of the inheritance, and of the children that she bore him, Anna stayed. Where else could a noblewoman of Norway go? Her mother had been an English noblewoman, but Anna could not live among strangers, even though she desperately desired change.

The years inexorably passed. Anna had survived the loss of two of her children, she had survived the ravages of the Great War, and she had even survived a marriage that had brought her more misery than joy.

But now.

Now Anna knew that her reserves of strength were gone. She was completely, utterly depleted. There was nothing left. She simply didn't want to live any longer if her life was only going to be like this.

She had passed through eight months of hell, and eternity more awaited her.

So the coming of a new nurse was not a blessing.

For Anna held truth deep inside her, right inside her partially paralyzed pelvis.

Seven nights ago, Anna had experienced the darkest night of her body and soul. For nearly twelve hours she had been gripped with both intense pain and wretched hopelessness. The other side of her bed was empty, and would probably stay empty for the rest of her life. She wanted to pull the bell for Gerda, for Nurse Adelsson, for someone, _anyone_ who could come and tell her honeyed lies, to reassure her that everything would be fine, that she would get through this. But Anna hadn't even the strength, physically or emotionally, to reach for that bell pull.

So she had remained, bereft and alone, and the darkness opened its great jaws and consumed her body and soul.

The night had been endless; her courtship with midnight had utterly depleted her.

Exhausted and spent, Anna had watched the first rays of an equally wretched dawn peek through the cracks of the window shutters, and that is when she made her choice.

It was time.

Anna would slip away from this torturous life. She would go away softly, slowly, like an abandoned boat on the tide, out into the endless sea. She would eat less, and withdraw more, until one day the pain would end. And with her death, she would be a beastly anchor to her family no longer, chaining them all to her particular hell. With her death, they would be freed to live their own lives and create the new future they deserved.

Her death would bring life.

So as she sat there waiting for Gerda to arrive, Anna made another decision.

She must resist this new nurse, and this last chance. There was no hope for her. It would be best for all of them if she just passed away. She could follow Hans into the grave. She would be mourned, and remembered, of course, as they all mourned and remembered Hans, and Heidi, and Leif. With the time that had passed since her children's deaths, Anna well knew that such hurts eventually dimmed. It would be the same with her. Her family would mourn her, they would cry their tears of scarlet and glass, but time would show them all the wisdom of her choice.

Because Anna could not bear to live like this.

Not any longer.

Anna Arendelle made her choice and hoped that when she met her new therapist she would be able to stick to it. To reject and dismiss the woman who had brought her such unexpected and blessed relief would be cruel indeed, crueler than Anna had ever been in her life, but not as cruel as the pain and blighted future that awaited her.

Eight months, and dozens of doctors, nurses, and specialists had proven inadequate in the face of her pain. Elsa Wolff would prove to be the same.

This nurse could not save her. No one could.

Anna was beyond salvation.

But then Gerda arrived, and Anna was jolted out of her dire thoughts. Anna stayed silent and withdrawn as Gerda brushed and plaited her hair and then helped her change out of her linen shift and into a pretty robe. Gerda offered a basin for washing her face and hands; Anna took one last deep breath of the spicy smell on her hands before washing them in floral soap. She recognized the scent of eucalyptus; what did this scent mean to her new therapist?

It certainly meant a lot to Anna Arendelle.

Gerda helped tuck her back into bed, resting as comfortably as she could against the cushioned headrest. As soon as Anna was settled, she asked Gerda to summon the new therapist. When she was gone, Anna took several deep breaths before sitting as tall and erect as possible.

Be strong, Anna.

And be hard.

Let the battle begin.

…

Elsa Wolff's head was buzzing by the time she and Lady Lily exited the hospital in Larvik. They had spent over an hour in conversation with both Dr. Lund and Mother Magda. Among all the information that had been imparted, the most vital resounded again and again in Elsa's mind. Lady Skaldenfoss's central nerve had been compressed in the accident, but not severed. Her back had been broken, but the spinal cord had miraculously stayed intact. It was possible for her to regain the use of her legs, though that possibility now seemed as remote as the Himalayan mountains.

If only Lady Skaldenfoss's legs hadn't been so badly broken in the same accident that had broken her back and skull. The Dowager Baroness had spent six months with her legs in casts and traction. The casts had been removed six weeks ago, revealing legs wasted by atrophy. Her muscles had shrunk and her ligaments were tighter than bowstrings. The physical rehabilitation necessary to rebuild those legs had been so agonizing to the lady that she had flatly refused to continue.

Anna Arendelle was not a young woman, and would not simply bounce back from these awful injuries. The Lady Skaldenfoss was 57 years old, though up to this point she had borne her age so gracefully and so well.

By the end of the conversation, Elsa began to understand the enormity of the task she had undertaken. She would have much to do if she were to bring Anna Arendelle out of darkness and back into the light.

If Elsa would even be allowed the opportunity.

For Lady Lily had more ominous news yet. As Kristoff drove them back to Iskall Slott, Elsa's bag and trunk in the boot, the young noblewoman quietly told Elsa that Lady Skaldenfoss was starting to withdraw from life. This past week in particular she had been eating less and taking less pleasure in life in general. While Anna had been capable of leaving her room for the past six weeks, to be mobile with the use of a wheelchair, she often chose to stay in her room. She rarely joined the family for tea, for dinner, or for playtime with the grandchildren. Anna had begun to speak of the life they would all lead after her death. She had even updated the terms and conditions of her will.

As Lady Lily finished her oration, Elsa Wolff took several deep breaths and looked out the window. She was aware of Lady Lily's concentrated gaze on her, but Elsa needed a moment or two to fully adjust to the weight of this task she had chosen to accept.

And in this moment Elsa despaired. Could she possibly help Anna Arendelle in the time she had left? Elsa herself was so very tired; caring for young Harald had not been so arduous, yet it had taken all her strength to do so. Her reserves were nearly gone.

Her own secret dwelled forever in her body. Her stricken, beleaguered body.

"Have I overly shocked you, Miss Wolff?" Lady Lily asked moments later.

Elsa turned back to the young woman. In the few short hours of their acquaintance, Elsa had already gained a great deal of respect for this feisty American woman who knew exactly what she wanted and would brook no obstacle in getting it.

"Yes, you have," Elsa softly replied. "However, I do prefer the truth. Half stories and part truths will only hinder me in my work. Thank you for being so brutally honest."

"Now it is time for you to be honest. What do you think of my mother-in-law's chances of recovery? Tell me truthfully, I have no use for pity or suppositions."

"All of her recovery hinges upon one thing, and one thing only. Her spirit. The most important task will be to end her courtship with death. Heal the spirit, and the body will naturally follow. If that can be done, chances of recovery are high, Lady Skaldenfoss." Elsa opened her mouth to continue, but then she clicked her mouth shut.

Lady Lily was far too sharp for that. "Please, you may address me as Lady Lily, Miss Wolff. What were you about to say?"

"I was about to ask about the qualifications of Lady Skaldenfoss's previous caregivers. Nurse Adelsson…" Elsa stopped there, her nose flaring in disapproval.

"Nurse Adelsson has worked for years in the hospital in Larvik, and has known my mother-in-law since the time that Anna came to Iskall Slott as Hans' bride. I believe that she was completely cowed by Anna's position and station. I commend her for wanting to spare Anna pain, but she had little backbone of her own and had not pushed through the exercises and rehabilitation necessary. Though, I will admit, when we hired her two months ago she seemed more than qualified for the task ahead. Just like you."

Elsa took that subtle condemnation and warning well in stride. "This is why I will not make promises regarding Lady Skaldenfoss's recovery, Lady Lily. I can only promise to serve her with all my heart and skill. So much depends on her ladyship. If she has completely committed herself to death, there may be nothing I can do to stop it. But I will do everything in my power to convince her that life is still good, that there is beauty yet to be found. That I will promise. That I will deliver."

Lady Lily blinked at the warm vehemence in Elsa's words, and then she smiled and nodded. "Well, it seems that we will work well together, then. I promise to aid you in whatever way I can." Lady Lily held out her gloved hand, and Elsa solemnly shook it.

They were drawing nearer to Iskall Slott, under a summer sky streaked with thin clouds. How was it possible that Elsa was in Norway again? She couldn't bear to think of the last time that she was here.

 _(the cave,_

 _how it roared!)_

"Do you have further questions before we arrive?" Lady Lily asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do. While I will primarily serve Lady Skaldenfoss alone, I may have questions and concerns I prefer not to bring up to her ladyship. Whom should I contact in those instances? Lord Skaldenfoss, or yourself, or someone else?"

"Please come to me with anything you require. Helene and I will see to most things together. Johan has had much to occupy his mind since the death of his father and the elevation of his status."

"Have you access to a good carpenter?"

"Goodness, what a peculiar question. Yes, we have a good carpenter on the estate. Why do you ask?"

"There are some techniques in muscle manipulation that I wish to use with her ladyship. I noticed that her bed is too soft and large to support her in this type of work. I have a design here for a special table that would lift her up to the right height for my work. I hope there will be space enough for it in her bathing chamber."

"Muscle manipulation?"

"My teachers in India also called it massage. The concepts of it go back for hundreds of years on the sub-continent, but I have discovered that it is still a relatively unknown concept here in Europe. I hope you can trust me in its therapeutic application."

"May I ask how long you were in India?"

"I lived there briefly in my youth, when I was twenty, and then returned there after the war. Some five years, perhaps, all told. God, it had changed so much, even after only twenty years."

"Forgive my impertinence, Miss Wolff, but may I ask how old you are?"

Elsa smiled. She had wondered who would be the first to ask. "I will turn fifty-two later this year, Lady Lily."

"My compliments, Miss Wolff. You barely look older than your late thirties."

"Thank you, my lady."

"Now I can reconcile myself to your timeline, and understand how you had the experience required to serve Lord Galthe."

"To be frank, serving Lord Galthe was quite simple. Serving your lady mother will be far more difficult." Elsa's voice hardened as she continued to speak. "Perhaps previous caregivers had not been so concerned with the state of her mind, or with her emotions. All her broken bones have mended. It is time to focus on mending her broken spirit."

Lady Lily seemed about to reply, but Elsa continued. "Lady Lily, I might as well tell you right now that some of my methods will seem strange and unorthodox. My treatment plan will be unlike anything Lady Skaldenfoss has ever encountered. You will see the proof of it, I promise you, but it may take some time. I hope I can rely on your trust, or at least your blessing to start with."

"Could you tell me a bit more about these unorthodox methods? I'd like to think you're not speaking of the arcane."

"Massage and rehabilitation will be standard. But there will also be meditation and visualization exercises. Aromatherapy, and spinal adjustments. I want fresh flowers for her room, and for her to continue her previous hobbies, whatever they were. I will invite her to do some painting or sculpture. I will find kittens or puppies to bring her and institute short visits with the grandchildren. When she is angry or upset, I want her to smash cheap plates, or allow herself to scream. I will read aloud to her from her favourite novels, and invite her to write poetry. I want to bring music back into her life."

"She loved to dance."

"Then she will dance. Lady Lily, together let's remind her of the beauty of this world. She's known only darkness and pain for far too long. There is so much more here and deep down she knows it."

Lady Lily nodded. "I would do almost anything to get Johan's mother back, Miss Wolff. Feel free to command the servants if you have need, and see me at any time if you need my help."

…

Elsa put the design for the massage table into Lady Lily's capable hands as they drove up to the front of the house. A footman was there to greet them, and then Lord Skaldenfoss was there to welcome them in the entry hall as Kai came to relieve Lady Lily of her hat and gloves. "Welcome back," Lord Skaldenfoss said, coming to kiss Lady Lily's cheek. "I hope you had a useful conversation at the hospital?"

"Indeed yes, Lord Skaldenfoss," Elsa said, also handing her hat and gloves to Kai. It felt strange to be treated, for this moment, as a guest and not as a servant. She wasn't sure how long it would last.

"My mother woke up about fifteen minutes ago. She would like to meet you as soon as you have refreshed yourself."

"Thank you, my Lord," Elsa replied. She was directed to a nearby water closet. After she used the facilities, she washed her hands and tried to collect her thoughts.

If the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss had already started thinking of suicide, she might not welcome Elsa's presence in her life. Anna Arendelle had been barely conscious earlier today, and may have accepted a stranger's assistance out of sheer desperation. How would she react to Elsa now that she was awake and alert?

Was Elsa really prepared for all this? The responsibility, the burden?

She looked in the mirror. There were light wrinkles by her deep blue eyes, and small lines by the corners of her lips. Lady Lily had complimented her on looking younger than her age, but she was feeling all fifty-two years today. There was a comb in her kit; she pulled her white-blonde hair out of its twist and absently combed it before swiftly twisting and piling it atop her head once more.

It had been a long day already; with errands in Oslo, the train ride, and the hours she had spent caring for the Baroness in the afternoon. Elsa Wolff looked at herself in the mirror and saw slight bags under her eyes, and felt frailty in her breath. She wished she could feel more rested and alert for her first true encounter with Anna Arendelle.

However, when Elsa emerged from the water closet Kai directed her to a little sitting room where refreshment had been prepared: a tray with a sandwich and several butter cookies on it, and a cup of tea. Elsa gratefully ate the sandwich and cookies, and drank the tea, and then felt a little better prepared for her upcoming interview.

It was Gerda who came to her in the sitting room, asking if Elsa was ready to meet the Dowager Baroness. Elsa put down her mostly-empty cup of tea and nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.

To her immense surprise, young Lord Skaldenfoss was outside the sitting room, as if he had been waiting for her to truly refresh herself. How strangely solicitous he was! He didn't have the uppity attitude that Elsa had come to expect from the nobility, and she wondered just whose influence had created this young man?

Again he led her up the stairs, along the gallery, and then turned the corner before halting briefly before a door. He knocked and then entered without waiting for a response. Elsa swallowed the last bitter vestiges of her exhaustion and distress and followed him into her lady's room. Both window shutters had been opened wider, allowing the softening ocean light of the ageing summer day to enter the pretty little room.

And then Elsa Wolff saw Anna Arendelle in full consciousness for the first time.

The Dowager Baroness was seated against the headboard of her bed, her knees slightly tented beneath an intricately embroidered coverlet. Her face was delicately featured, with eyes of that compelling teal, a small, slightly upturned nose, and generous albeit slightly chapped lips. Her hair was in a simple braid, neat and tidy; the colour was a bit of a shock to Elsa. She had thought it auburn earlier today, but it was actually a rich and burnished red, with a curious streak of near-white along one temple. There was a pale and conspicuous scar there on her lady's forehead. Her body must have wasted away during her long illness; her cheekbones were prominent, as were her collarbones. Her face was surprisingly youthful, with some slight wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth; her skin was pale like milk. Every bit of her was small, and exquisite, like a porcelain doll.

But her eyes! Elsa could barely keep from staring at them. Those teal eyes were like peaceable ocean waves that hid treacherous reefs beneath; Elsa could feel the ancient ship of her own body tremble and shiver to draw so near catastrophe!

Elsa had seen but a glimmer of Lady Skaldenfoss' full spark of life earlier this day. And now that they were both awake, aware, and perceiving each other at the same time, Elsa could see the aura of her lady's soulfire roaring and burning from those fiery oceanic eyes. What would it have been like to know Anna Arendelle before the accident that so nearly ended her life? What leviathans lurked beneath the surface of those waves?

Right then, right there, Elsa etched a vow into the fleshy tablet of her heart, to do everything in her skill and power to heal this woman and help her walk again.

Lady Skaldenfoss would do more than walk.

She would dance.

She would live. And laugh.

And love.

But even as Elsa stood there, beholding Lady Skaldenfoss in this strange consciousness, this inexplicable moment in time, Elsa noticed something else within the Dowager Baroness.

The spark of life within Anna Arendelle was strong. Too strong. Her soul was far too great for the beleaguered body she was stuck within. The divide between the life she should be living and the life she actually had was immense.

Would Lady Skaldenfoss even dare to try crossing this divide, and embrace a life after the accident?

Because there must have been moments of bliss before. There had been sons, and twin daughters, and then grandchildren. There had been death, but there had also been life, and a husband to love. There must have been meaning, and sense, and a certain knowledge of her place in the world.

And all of that was on the far side of this divide, this vast crevasse. It was all ashes and dust now, to coat Lady Skaldenfoss' tongue with filth and pollute her soul with despair.

She had withstood eight months of hell already. An eternity seemed to await her, with no surety of relief.

Elsa Wolff stood in Anna Arendelle's room, and watched those eyes narrow and sharpen, watched that frail body straighten and become imperious.

Elsa had supposed correctly. She was the enemy. She had seen this reaction before, in others.

All of this was occurring in mere moments, the seconds that passed as Lord Skaldenfoss escorted her further into the lady's bedchamber.

Waves of condemnation began to emanate from the lady before her. Those eyes tracked Elsa as she moved around the bed. She felt those waves strike her skin with near literal force.

And despite all Elsa had seen, and all that she had lived through, before the thunderstorm that had rearranged her life and in the tumultuous years after it, Elsa wondered again if she could possibly be up to this task. She had her own secrets, the deepest of which slumbered inside her body. She didn't have much time.

 _God, help me!_ Elsa prayed.

Elsa curtsied to the lady even as she suffered another blast of a haughty, wintery gaze. Wrapping herself in the memory of high mountains, red blankets, and butter yak tea, Elsa returned her lady's gaze with as much dignity and strength as she could muster and hoped that it would be enough!

What a subtle battle of wills passed between Elsa Wolff and Anna Arendelle at that moment.

From the moment her new nurse entered the room, Anna saw her adversary and instinctively knew that there was something vitally different about her, something that would cause Anna to shift and disrupt her entire life. And her life, while appalling with pain and paralyzed legs and depression, was known and familiar. Anna didn't want to change, to pass through yet another chasm of jagged glass and pain. Far better to slip out into the endless sea, drift away on the tide, and leave this world forever.

But here stood an elegant, beautiful, hideously _whole_ woman who would try to thwart her in this last desire. This slender, blue-eyed woman with strikingly white-blonde hair would bar her from the peaceable shore, would keep her from the welcoming tides of death. This woman, who even now curtsied to her, would dare to bring Anna back to a life she had already forsaken.

Anna had managed to overpower all her other caregivers. She had used her weakness, her elevated station as Baroness, she had used whatever she required in order to get what she wanted. She hated herself for it, but had somehow adjusted to the feeling of constant self-loathing as well. Nothing in her life had gone as she had planned; what was this life she now led, with paralysis and infections and unending relentless pain?

So Anna had made a fortress of herself; no one could enter. She had to protect herself, just as she had had to protect herself her entire life. Hans had never been her protector.

This woman had a fierce sort of quietness, and Anna remembered the warmth and caring that had flowed from her earlier this afternoon. This woman would wound her with hope, with empty promises.

And this woman would eventually fail her, and desert her, just as everyone else had. Including her last remaining son, her daughter, and her daughters-in-law. Everyone in her family thought her broken, beyond redemption. They all thought her weak. They thought her fragile. Let them think what they may; she held the core of her soul in her own hands.

Anna would show them all. She could be hard.

So stay hard, Anna. Stay hard.

Her son stood there, a blurry reflection of his father Hans, and he clearly did not recognize the gravity of the moments that passed like oily sludge between all of them. How could he recognize anything of this invisible world, when he stood so firmly in the world of the living? How could he possibly understand that, even now, he was working against her wishes?

Johan had hired this stranger without even consulting her, without even asking her opinion. This slight rankled within her along with millions of other slights over the past eight months.

So these first few moments passed, this first encounter between formidable spirits.

"Mother, this is your new nurse, Elsa Wolff. Miss Wolff, may I present the Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss, Lady Anna Arendelle?"

Miss Wolff ducked her head yet again, saying, "My lady, it is indeed a pleasure to know you."

"Miss Wolff," Anna shortly replied, with barely a nod of her head. The coldness in her voice was apparent.

Johan looked surprised at her reaction, and barely schooled his features as he glanced between the two women; one standing, one abed. Anna realized she had to be careful with him in the room, so she added, her tone slightly softer, "I don't know how you did it, but I woke with so little pain a short time ago. Thank you."

"It is my pleasure to serve you," Elsa automatically responded. The shell-shocked nurse was still reeling from her first contact with Anna Arendelle's body, spirit, and cold voice.

Even sitting up in her bed wearing only a satin robe and dressing gown, the woman before her blazed with authority and determination. Elsa thought of her Master, and how he had also held his own dignity and authority; certainly not with such bludgeoning desperation as this dying woman before her.

So Elsa looked again, looked again at this frail, red-haired dynamo of a woman. She could sense pressure against her on all sides; from Johan Arendelle, anxiously standing next to her and possibly wondering what was going on, and from Anna Arendelle, who must view Elsa as a demon, not an angel.

Oh, there was such desperate antagonism in her lady's eyes!

There was time enough for all good things, and time enough for this. Time to sink into this moment completely, and understand it.

So Elsa softened her awareness, and took this moment to look at her lady with different eyes, delving underneath her lady's eyes and posture. Once inside, she perceived the falsity, the deceptiveness that Lady Skaldenfoss wore like an armoured shield. Lord Skaldenfoss may have witnessed his mother crying, but even those had been surface tears. Even then her lady must have tried to protect her son from seeing her as she truly was. Elsa had been taught about how people coped with and controlled their pain, even to the point of sheltering their loved ones from seeing the truth of it.

Oh, yes, in this moment Elsa recognized the true nature of her lady's war, and wondered if her son could possibly know how much his mother had already sacrificed on his behalf in order to protect him. To protect him from seeing her as she truly was.

For Anna Arendelle burned with a quiet and intensely fierce love for her son, and a singular pang of envy rang through Elsa's heart at the sight of it. Children had never been a blessing for her.

With some effort she forced her attention back to the present moment, with all its waves and reefs and dangerous shoals, realizing that both mother and son were looking at her. Swallowing over sudden terror that thickened her throat, Elsa continued, "I thank you for this opportunity to be your caregiver, Lady Skaldenfoss. I don't want to disrespect your ladyship, but I am anxious to serve you. Could we set the social niceties aside for the moment so that I may ask you impertinent yet important care-giving questions?"

Lady Skaldenfoss stared at her for some moments longer. Finally she nodded, and then levelled that same wintery gaze at her son. He seemed to take the hint well enough, for he bowed to his lady mother before saying, "And with that, ladies, I shall leave you together. Take care, mother."

Neither woman watched him leave the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Their eyes were only on each other; the battle of wills continued.

...

 **A/N: You know, I call this my 'dessert' story. I'm still working on 'Revenant', which is the original story of 'Dark Horse'. But I personally LOVE this story. I originally wrote it only for myself. No one else. It feels a bit strange to share it with you.**

 **But I do love it. I love my two characters, the Anna and Elsa who are never seen this old in fanfiction. I hope you come to love it as well.**

 **Please like, and review.**

 **(mpsantiago, it is so wonderful to see you again! thank you for reading.)**


	4. Chapter 4 - Courage

**Chapter Four – Courage**

Anna's bedchamber was partially wreathed in evanescent oceanic August sunlight, coming through somewhat shuttered windows in dusty bars of light. It created strangely fuzzy patterns of light and shade, and Anna saw those patterns reflected in the two living souls in the room. Anna felt infected with darkness and depression, and she saw this new therapist and nurse, Elsa Wolff, as a living, breathing bastion of light and goodness.

Yet Elsa Wolff was also an imposter. An angel with a flaming sword, to keep Anna barred from her rightful place in heaven. It was more pain she offered, not peace. From her previous nurses, Anna knew this well.

Miss Wolff stood at her bedside. She was quiet. She was calm. She seemed rooted, grounded, as if not the greatest storm in all the world could displace her from her spot, or from her duty. Anna wanted to smile; how she had despised the nervous anxiety of her previous nurses, with their deference, their restlessness, their numerous apologies both spoken and inferred!

Anna wanted to smile, but she did not.

She wanted Miss Wolff to speak again. Her nurse's voice had come to her earlier today out of the depths of incredible pain and soul-darkness. The stranger's voice, a little deep, yet still so feminine, carried whole undercurrents of courage and strength within it. Anna didn't know this woman, yet she already wanted the comfort of her voice.

And the magic art of her hands. Pain continued to radiate down her spine, continued to reverberate in her head. Johan hadn't noticed. He hadn't eyes for this.

Would Miss Wolff?

With a single wave of her hand, Anna invited Miss Wolff to sit on the chair next to Anna's bedside. She watched as Miss Wolff sat with exquisite grace, her blue skirts flaring, her ankles tucked under each other, her neck soft and long. A hard spike of envy thrust through Anna's heart; to have such effortless elegance once more!

Her years with Hans had forcibly taught her grace; decades of practice had eroded the more clumsy parts of her nature. A year ago, she could have matched Miss Wolff in every social gesture and grace.

Now.

Now, Anna's resolve flickered as the woman took her seat and then resumed her patient, watchful stance. There was a hint of a smile on her face; Anna's frostiness did not touch her, yet she would remain deferential. Miss Wolff's soul seemed so strong!

Could Miss Wolff actually help her? Or would she become like the three others before her, drawing a steady paycheck while staying meek, submissive, and overly compassionate, all too willing to drug Anna away from her pain? Nurse Adelsson and all the others before her had treated Anna with such deference, such reverence, as if Anna were not even human at all, but a shattered porcelain doll that had been hastily glued back together.

Fragile. Delicate. There was no one who would treat her as an equal. Her own son almost feared to talk to her, to touch her or kiss her cheek. Johan considered her broken, just like everyone else.

And she was. Anna was broken. She was but a collection of long planes and sharp edges with nought in between.

And, like all broken things, it was time she was discarded.

Anna shifted uncomfortably in her seat, expecting Miss Wolff to jump up to assist. Miss Wolff did not. She just sat there, with that small and sincere smile on her face. Anna settled into a slightly better position for her aching back, glad that the pain had sharpened her focus once more.

She could keep to her plan. She could be hard.

"And what impertinent yet important care-giving questions would you ask, Miss Wolff?" Anna finally asked, flavouring her voice with the colour of steel and hoping she had the strength of will to reject this woman and everything she would offer.

"Firstly, despite serving in Lord Galthe's company for the last year, I am still unused to being called by my last name. It would please me greatly, my lady, if you would call me Elsa."

Oh, her voice was as smooth as oiled silk, as rich and sweet as the toffee made by the candyman in Leeds. It made Anna think of her English mother, of summers she had spent in England, and of the comfort that all mothers brought to their children.

But then she thought of what Miss Wolff had said.

Anna had always clashed with Hans on the issue of servant's names. She had insisted on Christian names, with permission from the servant, of course. Hans had insisted on formality and distance, using surnames. Anna, undeterred in those early years, had called all her servants by their first names and taught her children likewise. Hans had learned to accept it as one of her… idiosyncrasies.

But now?

Now, Anna stayed hard.

"I believe that is a privilege you must earn, Wolff. There are certain rules we abide by here. If you don't mind following our customs, that is."

Anna left that barb out there, but Wolff did not impale herself on it.

No, this woman simply took her words in stride. "As you wish," Wolff replied, her voice soft. Anna's coldness didn't seem to affect her. "I will be guided by you in this. I may need guidance in many things, here in a new household.

"Secondly, our work together is going to be quite intimate. I promise to respect your privacy and your wishes in any of our interactions, but do know that there is no judgment on my part. I will push you, my lady. I will challenge you. But it is only because I wish to serve you well, and to help you regain your strength."

Wolff's words, while expected, only highlighted one of the things Anna hated most about being an invalid. She could barely bathe herself or dress herself. She couldn't leave her bedroom without much preparation, and even then she had to be carried down the stairs, to then be wheeled about in her wheelchair.

Her nurses had seen her nakedness, her shrunken limbs, her pallid skin, her many surgical scars. It was just another reason to keep her mental fortress strong, to keep a safe distance from her nurses. The boundary of her social position had proved immensely formidable in the past, but this time her nurse wasn't Norwegian, or even English. This Canadian might not care as much for social standings and ceremonies.

Anna thought all of this, but only said, "Understood."

Again, Wolff didn't seem to mind her abruptness. Who was this woman?

Wolff only nodded and continued with, "Thirdly, I don't mean to be indelicate or rude, but if I am to serve you well, and bring you back to your former health and happiness, I will need your help, my lady. I will need you to be honest with me."

Anna hadn't expected those words. No one had ever said them before. Her eyes began to blaze as ire flashed through her heart. It didn't help that the pain was getting steadily worse, clawing at her backside and scratching her skull. Pain always made her shorter of temper.

She welcomed the pain now as she attempted to parry with this nurse, to somehow browbeat her into submission.

"I am not ordinarily in the habit of lying," Anna hissed, clipping her words in her anger.

"No, you may not be. But you are in the habit of protecting your son and family. You want to shelter them from seeing you as you truly feel, as you truly are. You want to spare your family from the agony that feeds on you, that inhabits your every muscle, your every bone, even in this very moment…"

All the breath escaped Anna's lungs, and she scrambled for a sense of control. How had Wolff known?

No one knew this!

Wolff did not stop. Her words were no longer like toffee. They were like the humming of steel train wheels on long tracks in white white January snow and just as inexorable.

Anna trembled; catastrophe loomed!

Wolff leaned forward slightly as she continued, "My lady, you are being stoic, and stalwart, and so very brave. Your feelings do you so much credit, Lady Skaldenfoss, but they are not necessary in this room, and in the space I create. Please, I implore you, do not lie to me. Tell me exactly how you feel, and then I can help you."

"And what if I do not want to be helped?" Anna quietly asked, not able to stop the words from flowing over her tongue like boiled tar. "What if I have already chosen another path? What if I just want all of this to be over?" It took some effort to keep her voice from thundering in anger and frustration. Anna was glad she could still control her emotions and her speech, even if she could control nothing else.

"Do you not want to see little Olaf and baby Hans, and Claire and Heidi grow up?"

Of course this wretched nurse would mention Anna's beloved grandchildren, especially Lily's new son, born three months after the accident. Johan had insisted on giving his son his father's name, and Anna had to be content. It wasn't Johan's fault… Anna had never told him the extent of Hans' abuse, of his many indiscretions. It would have been unfair to saddle her son with those marital concerns. Especially now that Hans was dead, and it was best not to speak of those beyond the grave.

But when Anna had held that baby in her arms, when she had seen the softness of his skin, the joy in his little movements, the perfection of his fine dark hair, the fingers and the toes of his little body; her son's son became _Hans_ in every way that her own husband could not. Though Anna had been in traction, and a bedsore had been lanced the previous day, causing infection and so much hidden agony, she had held that precious little baby in her arms and hoped that God would not abandon her and her family.

Just when had God decided to take a vacation, only to discover that Anna Arendelle had finally reached ruin?

Anger and shame made Anna's voice shake as she hissed, "That was unfair and unkind, Miss Wolff."

Wolff's face was solemn, yet still radiated love and warmth as she took the chastening in stride. "I know it was a low blow, Lady Skaldenfoss. I can only imagine how hard these past eight months have been for you. But I beg you to give me a chance. Give me a month, to start with, for us to work together. Let me prove my worth to you, and you will rediscover your joy for life."

Anna, originally surprised and a bit confused by the strange slang that Wolff used, found that she was once again close to tears. This pain was so very different from that muted pain that constantly raged in her head and down her back.

This was pain that exploded from the ravaged crevasse of a broken heart.

A long, ancient, deeply broken heart.

Deep down, Anna knew that she didn't want to die. She wanted to live, not only to see her grandchildren grow, but to grow older with them.

Six-year old Claire, she already had so much of Anna's beloved Leif in her; would she have Leif's talent for the violin as well? Helene lived with the family, yet taught her daughter both Norwegian and French (Anna had secretly been giving the girl English lessons as well), and Anna despaired of the day that sweet Helene would take Claire away from them, perhaps to return to her native France.

Ingrid had named her daughter after her dead sister, would little Heidi have the same compassion for animals great and small? Oh, the kittens Anna would be forced to foster, those stray kittens that her own Heidi had brought home with a tearful face, and of course they would have a home here. Those kittens; they were worth Hans' indignation and ire.

Anna had not thought of her Heidi's stray cats in years. Did they still live in the stable? What generation had lived on, of those little cats that her daughter had saved?

Then there was Olaf, Johan and Lily's eldest son, and heir to the title Skaldenfoss. Three years old, he was the sweetest boy, generous and loving, incredibly content to sit in laps and hear stories and be cuddled. Anna had not seen him in weeks, maybe even a month.

It was inexcusable.

It was…

Humbling.

Maybe it was Wolff's rooted posture, maybe it was her constant small smile, but Anna actually felt humbled.

Yes, she wanted to live.

But the pain, the endless humiliation and shame and agony she would have to endure to emerge on the other side…

"I don't know if I can do it, Wolff, " Anna quietly said. "I'm speaking truthfully now, as you requested. Right now, at this moment, I don't have the heart to continue. My courage. It's gone."

To her surprise, Elsa Wolff did not immediately respond. She instead became inordinately _present_ , as if Anna herself were a meteor shower or the northern lights; the most important thing in all her sight and existence. As the target of such concentration, Anna trembled. Rarely had she been perceived thusly.

Wolff seemed to allow Anna's last statement, in all its pain, in all its beauty, to saturate the air between them.

The unexpected silence reverberated strongly in Anna Arendelle's heart. The pause, though small, seemed to be a tribute, a truthful acceptance of all Anna had just said.

Then Wolff leaned slightly forward. She stretched out her hand, and touched Anna on her wrist. Her beautiful blue eyes were intense and focused, and she quietly said, "My courage, I give to you, as I would give all good things to you."

Anna felt that touch on her wrist even as she heard the words and reeled from the sincerity of them. They were grappling hooks over the walls she had painstakingly built around her broken body and spirit. Those words sunk deep inside her, and Anna knew that she would remember them forever.

It pained her when Wolff withdrew her hand, and broke the unsolicited contact.

Yet Wolff continued her verbal assault. "You have little reason to trust me, my lady. I may have helped you earlier, but I am unknown to you, I am a stranger. But I beg of you to trust me nonetheless. If you allow me to serve you, I will bring you back to the life you want, and the life you so richly deserve."

The sincerity. Anna couldn't bear it.

So she moistened her lips and asked, "Can you really help me? So many others have tried, and failed. Look at me, Wolff. I am a broken woman. I cannot be mended. So do not give me false hope. I couldn't bear it. If you would serve me, you would let me go, and let me be!" Anna's voice shook slightly as she spoke.

Again, Wolff did not immediately reply or try to negate Anna's emotions. She just continued to regard Anna with that strong, compassionate gaze. Finally she said, "I will not let you go, Lady Skaldenfoss. You can't fool me. You sit there as the embodiment of all that is winter, all that is dead and frozen and cold. Yet I see something else in your eyes. Deep inside, you hold an invincible summer.

"I promise you I can do it. If I have any gift in life, Lady Skaldenfoss, it is this, the gift of true healing. This is what I do. This is what I live for."

Anna's mind reeled from the words spoken with such conviction and sincerity and beauty. The fervent words caused an answering cascade of hope in Anna's heart.

Was Anna's resolve really so weak, that a few heartfelt words from a complete stranger could change the course of her fate?

Or perhaps God had not forsaken her after all; perhaps He was responding to the deepest need of her soul, and sent this woman to challenge her to live her life again. Not that Anna overly believed in God; He had abandoned the Arendelle's to their twisted fate a long time ago.

Anna didn't want to speak, not yet. Social convention would demand that she continue this conversation without delay, for to invite pause would be to invite doubt and uncertainty. But she put her first tentative trust in Wolff by remaining quiet, and actually thinking about what her nurse had just said.

And for a moment Anna allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to resume a normal life, as normal as it could be without Hans' constant influence. She would continue her work with the War Widows Fund, and play with the grandchildren in the library. She could go for long walks in the gardens, and snip her own bouquets as she had so enjoyed doing. She could dance again, even without the partner who had guided her steps for the last thirty years.

And bless her heart, Wolff waited, unspeaking. Giving Anna the gift of time and space. Such consideration was so rare; could this new nurse truly see Anna so deeply and so well this soon? Where had this woman learned such tactics?

Anna trembled on this precipice for long and aching moments. Pain began to intensify, radiating out from her head, bleeding down her back.

Still the silence reigned, fertile and golden.

And then Anna heard the ringing of the dinner gong, and it was a tsunami of icy water on her soft and meek muscles. She gave a violent start, closed her eyes, and put a hand to her temple. Her heart pounded thick and strong in shock, making a dire gong of her head. Only moments later there was a knock on the door, and she knew it was Gerda entering the room.

Anna opened her eyes to behold her loyal maid standing there. "My lady, will you be dressing for dinner?" her maid asked, as she must.

Anna looked at Wolff and allowed a fraction of her pain to appear in her eyes, in the stillness of her body.

It was a test. Just how deeply could Wolff truly see? How immured was she in the customs of nobility? Did she have a backbone, or not? Every other nurse had failed this test. They didn't see the truth. They saw only what Anna wanted them to see, and they always waited for Anna to make decisions. They bowed immediately to her power and station, exerting no force of their own.

It didn't surprise her, not really, that Wolff admirably rose to the occasion. "If it please your ladyship, perhaps you could take a dinner tray this evening here in your chambers, so that we may continue our conversation and conduct an initial examination."

Anna settled back slightly against the headboard. Inwardly she was smiling, but outwardly she only looked back at Gerda and said, "Please send my regrets to Lord and Lady Skaldenfoss, and bring up a tray for both Wolff and I when you are able."

"Of course, my lady." Gerda exited again, and Anna looked back at Wolff. Her therapist was sitting straight and tall in the chair near Anna's bed, a complex wash of emotions on her face.

Oh, yes, Elsa Wolff was a force to be reckoned with.

After some time passed in this perilous quiet, Wolff finally spoke again, saying, "What would you ask me, my lady, if you could ask any question at all?"

Anna wrapped her poor mind around the question. She found she had at least a hundred questions for her new nurse, but she barely dared to ask any of them. She felt a lump appear in her throat. Wolff sounded so confident, so genuine, that Anna could nearly believe her words.

What Wolff had said earlier still reverberated in her mind. Her wrist burned from Wolff's deliberate and soft touch.

 _My courage, I give to you, as I would give all good things to you._

So Anna sipped on the courage Wolff offered, and returned to the matter they had been discussing before the gong. Her question, when it emerged, was barely more than a whisper. "I want to believe you, Wolff. I want to believe that you can help me. But nothing has worked for eight long months. Even the laudanum has started to fail me. Wolff, are you speaking your truth, or are you just saying what you want me to hear?"

"Let me pass this trial by fire, my dearest lady," Wolff replied. "In only a month you will see the proof of my methods. Take thirty days and judge me then, to be free to choose me or dismiss me from your service. I would be your choice, Lady Skaldenfoss, and not someone foisted upon you by your well-meaning son."

An astonished smile finally appeared on Anna's lips. How had Wolff known?

And then her smile turned into a grimace, and her breath caught like barbs in her throat. For no reason at all, the muted pain that had been radiating down her head and spine suddenly grew claws and tore at her. Anna's eyes widened as she tried to absorb these bolts of agony, and for several moments she didn't move, and scarcely breathed.

Wolff leaned forward. "Tell me where, my lady. What is happening inside you?"

Anna had to close her eyes to Wolff's compassion, and she turned her head away. She was astonished at the insight of her new companion. It was as if the woman could see right through the fractured ramparts of her broken body.

"From my head, radiating down my back. It's like claws." She kept her eyes closed, unable to keep a soft whimper from escaping her lips as the pain continued to build in her body. She could only hear Wolff's movements, how she must have pulled the bell for Gerda.

It took several minutes for Gerda to respond; she must have been downstairs overseeing the trays for their dinner. In those minutes, Wolff bade Anna breathe as slowly and deeply as possible. She then pulled aside the covers atop Anna's feet and began to press and hold specific points upon them. Anna watched through eyes narrowed in pain, still distantly surprised that she could watch someone touch her feet and not feel a damned thing.

At least her legs were out of traction. Anna had hated the sight of her plastered and weighted legs in their pulleys and gears. It had taken six months to knit the bones of her legs and the fracture of her spine; six months of bedsores, humiliation and a near constant state of being drugged. Even this life, stilted and painful as it was, was a slight improvement on the old one.

So slight. So miniscule. Certainly not enough for her to give up her vision of the endless sea. Her lost children were waiting, though she supposed she would also have to see her husband there on the other side.

Gerda knocked and entered. Wolff's voice was crisp and professional. "Gerda, thank you for coming so swiftly. Do you have cotton flannel blankets, and a way to dry heat them?"

"Yes, I believe so, Miss Wolff."

"Could you please heat one up as hot as you can manage and bring it back here as soon as you can? In the meantime, I also require a hot water bladder. If you do not have one available, I will fetch the one from my kit."

"No, we have them available. My lady?" Gerda asked, looking to Anna for confirmation of carrying out these orders. Anna quickly nodded, wondering what Wolff intended.

Gerda left the room, and Wolff returned her attention to massaging Anna's unfeeling feet. She continued in this manner until Gerda returned with the hot water bladder, piping hot to the touch and covered with a thick kitchen towel. She murmured that she was still heating the blanket, and promised to return as soon as possible. Wolff asked her to hold back the dinner trays for a little while yet.

As soon as she was gone, Wolff looked up at Anna's face. "My lady, would you allow me to look at your lower back? I've spoken extensively with Dr. Lund and Mother Magda, but I would like to see the evidence of your accident and the subsequent surgeries."

Anna nodded, her breath still hissing through her lips. The pain was still ripping her up, like hooked knives being painstakingly drawn through the muscles and nerves of her lower back and up her spine.

It would never end. It could never end.

Anna was doomed.

Wolff rose from her place and gently helped Anna shift her position, laying her on her side facing the center of the bed. She stripped away the outer robe and encountered the solid expanse of Anna's shift. She pulled up the hem and quickly covered her exposed, wasted legs with the sheet, leaving bare only a small portion of her skin. Anna was grateful. She had no desire to be seen half naked by Gerda or anyone else, especially not her son, should he choose this inopportune moment to check on her.

Oh, to have a measure of privacy once more!

What was Wolff thinking as she looked at her? Anna felt ugly, gaunt, scarred and hideous. No more than a wraith next to this younger woman who practically glowed with health and deep-seated joy.

Anna shivered as Wolff touched the scars left behind by her three operations. Anna had seen them in mirrors, and knew they were pale, ribbed, and wide. And then she heard an almost inaudible whisper of empathy and compassion as Wolff murmured, "Oh, my dear one."

The compassion in Wolff's voice was a knife to Anna's heart. It would transect all the boundaries and barriers Anna tried so desperately to maintain in her damned stoic and stalwart manner. Wolff's compassion was a sword, not a dove, a gift that could not be received. Her compassion was a Trojan Horse, to reduce Anna to the same rubble and ruin as ancient Troy.

God damn her for her sympathy!

"Please don't," Anna whispered into the pillow, panting with pain. "Don't pity me, Miss Wolff."

A moment passed. She could hear Wolff swallow before she replied, and her voice was slightly hoarse as she said, "Oh, this is not pity, my lady. This… this is admiration."

Anna could not accept those words, either. Not while the claws continued to make ribbons of her nerves and muscles, claiming her strength, stealing her willpower. In this moment Anna had no hope left, no courage at all, for the fact remained that Wolff had conjured but a few hours of respite, and now Anna once again stood upon the crumbling precipice of agony and despair. There could be no permanent relief from this, not among the land of the living. Relief could only be found across the endless sea.

Willing herself not to weep, making fists of the sheets and trying to breathe as Wolff bade her, Anna suddenly felt the warm pressure of a hot water bladder against her neck and shoulders. Both the weight and the heat felt heavenly, and Anna melted into it. Wolff tucked the edges of the towel under her arms, and the bladder was held in place.

And with her hands Wolff urged Anna's upper body even closer to her bed, leaving Anna practically on her front. She could feel the gown being lifted all the way up to her shoulders, leaving bare her mid and lower back. Her jaw tight from clenching, Anna waited for what Wolff would do next. She honestly had no idea what Wolff's intention was, but she felt no fear or anxiety. She trusted Wolff already; the earlier respite had done that much at least.

And then Anna felt warm hands touching those ropy scars, soft pads of thumbs rubbing little circles over her sharp hip bones, accompanied by the slightly harder press of the heels of Wolff's palms. She must have put some oil on her hands, for her hands glided and slid along Anna's skin. Never in her life had Anna experienced this before. The first few moments of this strange pressure actually increased her agony, and she was about to cry out when her body relaxed under her, and the pain began to slowly recede.

"Shall I tell you about the primroses, my lady?" Wolff was quietly saying as she continued the gentle yet relentless circles of pressure swooping across her lower back. Anna listened to Wolff's voice as diligently as she would have clutched a lifesaving raft in the ocean. She held on to these words to distract her from the pain that ravaged her body, and once again she was astounded by Wolff's intuition.

How did this new nurse know that Anna needed to hold onto something more than cloth, than sheets?

"My dear, I've seen the primroses unfurl from a mound of the purest snow. Such gay little bulbs of flowers they are, purple and magenta in colour. Imagine them surrounded by darkness, crushed by snow, only the barest spark of life hibernating deep inside them. But when the creeks begin to run with snowmelt and the birds begin to sing their nest-building songs, these are the first flowers to climb their way out of the dark and the snow, they are the first to rejoice in the coming of the light. Oh, imagine the primroses, my dear, brilliant against the backdrop of melting snow, blanketing the alpine meadows of far mountains."

Anna listened to these words with her eyes closed, her fists tight in the sheets, and she listened as if her very life depended on the words, as if her hope and salvation were to be found within.

And never in her life had anyone rubbed her back quite like this; Wolff's hands were slick and warm as they endlessly swooped along Anna's skin, focusing with gentle intensity on certain points over her hips and along her once-broken spine. Anna could actually feel her nerves aligning again, and her muscles were loosening as well, giving up their ghosts of pain. Yet while she felt Wolff's hot hands on her naked back, she could see the primroses blooming, she could imagine them like a great ocean of purple on the slopes of far mountains.

The words evoked a memory of visiting her mother's family estate near Exeter, in England. Her grandfather's garden had long beds of brilliant tulips, imported from Holland; they looked like a rainbow had touched the earth. Anna had loved those tulips, so soft and demure they could be, yet so triumphant and strong!

Anna sank into the memory of tulips as she sank deeper into her mattress, and into this strange and unbelievable treatment that somehow turned her pain into muted pleasure. She was barely aware that Gerda had returned, bearing the heated flannel blanket. When the door closed again, Wolff lifted her gown even higher, placing the blanket on her lower back, and then began to work on her heated neck and shoulder muscles.

Another memory came ghosting towards her; Anna caught the roots of it, and spun it to the front of her mind. Soft she tugged, and the fullness of the memory eventually came, as if it had been deeply buried in her mind.

There had been other tulips, more beloved tulips, which had decorated the grounds of the boarding school outside London that Anna had called home for the six years of her adolescence, from age eleven to seventeen.

She had grown up in Norway, but her English mother had insisted on a proper English education. Oh, forty years ago it was, when she had seen those tulips under a starry night sky.

In her memory she smelled spring, and wet black earth. She saw her breath rise in the chilly night air, she felt the flood of adrenaline in her veins as she and her companion escaped the notice of the matrons.

Then Anna remembered lips pressing against hers, the only kiss she had ever received from someone other than her husband, Hans.

Anna had not thought of that kiss in decades. The sudden emergence of it, as if it also had erupted from soft black earth, surprised her back into the present moment.

Anna took a deep breath and realized that she had released her death grip on the sheets. Somehow between the primroses, the tulips, the press of Wolff's oiled hands, and the memory of the mouth of a beloved lost one the pain had disappeared.

Wolff breathed with her, and bent down close to her.

Her hot fingers caressed Anna's neck, and then she heard Wolff's voice, wildly inappropriate yet so velvet, so incredibly sweet.

"That's my girl."


	5. Chapter 5 - Courting

**Chapter Five – Courting**

Thus began Anna Arendelle's true convalescence. More than eight months had passed since the fateful day of her accident, eight months of trial and error, pain and heartbreak, grief and mourning. Elsa Wolff had come to her like a gift straight out the heavens; finally here was someone to understand her, who cared for her and challenged her.

Such a soft beginning they had, hinting of care far different than that of every other nurse or doctor.

Wolff did not complete the initial examination that night. Anna was too weak after her bouts of pain. She rested for a time after Wolff's marvellous treatment, her gown back in its rightful place, and then she managed to eat a small portion of the dinner that Gerda had brought to her. She fell asleep again soon after, in a room absent of light, to the sensation of Wolff sitting on the bed beside her, touching and holding certain points along Anna's spine and shoulders.

Anna had felt like a pearl. Protected, and cared for. Her core of grit and determination had become a jewel.

Anna was astonished when she woke in the morning, to see daylight peeping through the cracks of the shutters. She had slept the whole night through. A miracle, that.

But then she woke to the sight of an empty pillow.

As was the predominant custom among the nobility, she and Hans had separate bedchambers, though they were right next to each other and had their own private connecting door. When he was unfaithful to her a few years ago, a fact that Johan still didn't know, Anna had locked Hans out of her bedchamber for months. But they had finally reconciled, though she had never trusted him the same way again. For the last year before the accident they spent most nights together in her bed, though the love-making itself had become rare, conducted out of duty instead of companionship.

Despite his many flaws, Hans had been her husband. It was comforting to have him in her bed, to hold and be held through the night. She hadn't realized just how comforting it was until that option had been irrevocably taken from her.

Grief for her loss suddenly swarmed her heart. Most mornings she woke in such pain that it was easier to set aside Hans' death. But this morning, perhaps the first ever she had woken without pain, she stared at that pillow and felt his absence like an amputated limb.

Like a winter without spring.

Like legs that would never walk again.

The pillow next to her was empty. There would be no more dancing, no more walks, no more family dinners where their eyes would connect across the plates and she would see such an expression of love and adoration within.

Had he levied the same expression on the countenance of the Baroness of Falk?

Anna frowned. She had eventually forgiven him his affair, though the wound to her heart and her self-confidence was buried too deep to heal. Hans had insisted it had only been that one time, and she wanted to believe him, but now she couldn't ask.

Damn him for cheating on her.

And damn that train!

Anna grasped the triangle bar above her bed, pulling herself upright. She clenched her teeth as she did so, waiting for the pain to return.

It didn't.

Why didn't it?

A horrifying minute passed for Anna Arendelle, as she realized something for the first time since the accident.

Anna wanted to be in pain. She wanted to hurt. Because her pain, her agony connected her, however awfully, with the life she had led with Hans. She was in pain because of the accident that took his life.

And if she didn't have the pain anymore, she would have to truly realize that he was gone, never to return. Her closest companion was gone forever.

Better to have pain. Better to be paralyzed, and live this horrifying, stilted life. Better to suffer through infections and depression, because if she were healed of all this, she would have to face a future without him. He had often insulted her, berated her, disregarded her thoughts and feelings, but he had been her husband and companion for thirty years. She still needed him, just as she needed her pain.

Anna had been in chronic pain for so long she didn't know what to do without it.

Just when had pain become part of her fortress, part of her wall?

And worse, part of her new identity?

Anna couldn't bear to think of these things; she hadn't the strength to deal properly with them. So she turned on her lamp and rang for Gerda, just as she had done a thousand times before.

Gerda came, wreathed in smiles that Anna did not return. Anna requested her breakfast, and asked Gerda to send her son up for a visit, at his convenience.

Johan came to her as she was finishing her breakfast. He was already dressed for the day, in a dress shirt and suit jacket that had recently come from London. He looked so young, yet so sharply dressed, just like his father. Hans had always had a keen eye for the latest fashion, for Anna as well as for himself, and had been remarkably generous when it came to new dresses and new hats, or anything else that would bow to current trends.

"Good morning, mother," he said as he came into the room, pausing long enough to kiss her cheek. He sat at the chair that was now eternally at her bedside. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"It's been a good morning so far," Anna replied, with only a drop of a lie instead of a deluge.

"I did come by to say goodnight last night, but you were already asleep," he continued. "Miss Wolff was rubbing your neck and humming quite softly. I was surprised to see her with you so late; it must have been a very long day for her with travel and the interview and all. May I ask, what do you think of her so far?"

"She's a very welcome change from the others," Anna replied, feeling that hot surge of anger that her son could make such decisions on her behalf without consulting her. "I do hope you treated Nurse Adelsson fairly," she said, unable to keep back the words.

Johan looked slightly abashed. "I gave her two weeks wages in severance, and thanked her for her service." He looked uncomfortable, and Anna had to control the slight surge of power she felt; there had been little enough opportunity to feel power or control of any sort in the last eight months.

God, who was she becoming?

Anna and her son continued a strange and unnatural conversation that felt wooden, laborious. When the pain finally began to radiate from her lower back and from her head, Anna actually smiled to feel it. At last her true day could begin.

"Grandmamma and Astrid are coming to visit us this afternoon for tea," Johan abruptly said. "They specifically asked if you would be able to join us."

A pang struck Anna's heart.

Hans' father had died decades ago, but his widowed mother was alive and still a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention Astrid. Astrid was Hans' older sister. She was unmarried, unforgiving, and highly opinionated. Anna truly believed that Astrid had been poisoned by her lot in life. Unable to inherit due to her gender, doomed to spinsterhood due to her crossed eyes and wandering tongue (not to mention blackened heart), Astrid was a narrow, rigid woman who carried her contempt for life in every word she spoke. Anna could scarcely bear her presence while hale and whole, and had begged out of every interaction save one since her legs had come out of traction.

That one tea with her late husband's family had been enough.

"I'll see how the day goes, and what Wolff has planned for me," Anna replied.

"All right, mamma," Johan said, trying not to show his disappointment. He immediately deflected the conversation away from the deep misgiving still buried in his heart. Anna had acted so strangely yesterday when meeting Elsa Wolff for the first time. Her coldness, her distance; it was so different from the warm and nurturing woman he had known.

But perhaps that warm and nurturing woman had died as well, in the accident that took his father's life. Leaving this ghost in her place.

In this moment he tried not to show how hurt he was, how concerned.

Or how desperately he hoped that Wolff could help her, where no one else could.

If Wolff would even be allowed to help. Or would his mother keep this new therapist locked out of her thoughts and confidences, and out of her heart? Would she allow no one back in?

The silence had grown fangs, so he had to say something. "But you are pleased with Wolff so far?" he asked, fishing for something to say.

"So far, yes," Anna admitted. Then Anna took a deep breath and remembered what Wolff had said about keeping secrets. Feeling vulnerable, feeling scared, she said, "Though I must admit, Johan, that part of me doesn't dare to hope. I don't even think about walking again. Right now, I would settle for being in less pain."

She watched her son's face carefully, and saw his cautious concern multiply. "To be honest, I have no idea how you've managed to deal with your pain thus far," he said. "I've felt inadequate many times since dad died; I've felt things were completely outside of my control. It… it breaks my heart to see you in such pain, mamma. I would take it for you, if I could. Believe me, I would."

The words came out in a low, breaking rush, striking Anna's heart.

Oh, his eyes!

She reached out and took her son's hand, and felt his fingers grasp hers.

Their hands were so different now than they had been in the past; she remembered his as soft curious digits that touched everything they could, such interest and delight! Her own hands had been smooth and limber and filled with vitality. She had often gone up to the nursery at night to look at her sleeping babies and marvel at their peach-fuzz skin and locks of hair and short, chubby little limbs. She had touched them, and felt a searing connection with each of them, opening herself up in that moment to their futures as well as her own; blank canvases all to paint with experience.

There was never such glorious pain as that of a mother looking upon a sleeping child, and wishing the best of the stars for them.

And knowing, deep down, that the universe gives nothing for free. That struggle, and heartache, and pain were all part of the human experience.

A mother gave life. She nurtured growth. Everything after was in God's hands.

Things like war.

Disease.

Loss.

Life.

 _(oh!)_

The years had only deepened the love she had for this young man, and for her daughter in Oslo. The loss of Leif and Heidi; the canvases of their lives were still bright and vibrant in her mind. Time had not tarnished them, nor diminished their memory; Anna was still privilege to it all.

The kittens. The tree house. The frogs by the creek. The star-gazing. The violin.

Heidi had suffered little; days only. The Spanish Flu blew her out like a candle.

Leif had suffered much longer. Anna had felt wretched with sympathy, devastated with impending loss, while she sat at the bedside of her feverish dying son. She had been so inadequate in the face of his agony.

Helene had been there. She had absorbed all of it; his agony, his ecstasy.

Helene had been stronger than all of them, in the end.

True love conquers all.

And now.

To hear Johan say that he would take Anna's pain if only he could; Anna had forgotten that he had been there as well, there at Leif's deathbed. He had witnessed their semi-private moments, the dying husband with his young wife and unborn daughter.

She and Johan hadn't been this open with each other in months. This truth hurt.

 _(I would take it for you!)_

"Thank you, son," Anna whispered. "That means a lot to me."

She began to pull her hand away, but Johan clutched it even tighter. His eyes were earnest on hers, with no sensation of frivolity or grief. In fact his face grew serious; he looked so like Hans that it made Anna shiver.

"If it means something to you, make me a promise," he urged. "Promise me you'll try. Give her a chance. Give life a chance."

"I…-"

"And don't lie to me, not now. If you can't promise this, say so."

Surprise and shock rendered Anna momentarily speechless. When she spoke, she spoke the truth, and it hurt. "I can't promise that, Johan. Not yet."

Anna still wanted the endless sea. Those waves that would take her away from her pain, and reunite her with her lost family.

"All right, then." Johan finally released her hand and sat back slightly in the chair, breaking the tension of the moment.

A strange silence grew between them. Anna fished for something to say. Something ordinary, something benign.

To her surprise, he spoke first. "We've had a theft of one of our fishing boats, and another coble is out of service. Do you recall where dad kept some of the older boat property records? For some reason, two old men are claiming the loss of the same boat."

"They should be in the library, next to the freeholds and farm records." The words flowed easily out of Anna's mouth, despite Hans' never asking for her assistance with the accounts. "Good luck with the mystery."

"Thanks, mamma. I better get back to work." He rose and kissed her cheek. "If you need anything, just say the word. And if by some miracle you feel well enough, please join us for tea or for supper. But it's up to you."

"Thanks, Johan. I'll let you know. Have a good day."

"Same to you." He left the room, closing the door behind him. Anna couldn't help voicing a small sigh of relief at his departure. Their morning conversation was usually much more banal. Today's… Anna needed to think about it.

Wincing at the pain in her back, Anna pulled the rope for Gerda. Her maid came to take away her breakfast tray. Gerda also had a pile of fresh clothing for Anna to wear, though it would be Wolff's job to help dress her. Gerda stood by the edge of the bed and ran a brush through Anna's hair before plaiting it into a simple braid. She had scented soap for Anna's face and hands, and a soft towel for after.

At Anna's request, she brought over a mirror. Anna looked at her reflection, still surprised to see that streak of white in her hair, above the scar on her forehead. The colour of her eyes hadn't changed, but she felt like she was viewing the world through a whole new ocean of experience; there were leviathans in those teal depths.

What would Hans have thought of the woman she was becoming?

"I think it looks wonderful," Gerda said as she saw Anna looking at that white streak.

Anna gave her a small smile and handed back the mirror. "Do you know when Wolff is coming down?"

"She weren't at breakfast, my lady. But we did have a quick word last night by the fire about how to work together in serving you. By your leave, my lady, I told her that you would set other boundaries for her position."

Before Anna could reply there came a double tap of a knock on her bedroom door. Anna turned her head to see who was entering, but then no one came in. She was momentarily taken aback; ordinarily someone knocked and then entered. That was their custom, much as she hated it.

Still no one.

She knew who it was.

Elsa Wolff.

Anna cleared her throat and said, "Come in."

 _(Promise me you'll try._

 _…_

 _I can't promise that, Johan. Not yet.)_

Anna tried to straighten her back as Wolff entered the room.

Elsa Wolff was wearing a deep cobalt coloured skirt this morning, with a wide black sash for a belt, and a simple white blouse atop. Her hair was up in a style Anna had never seen before nor even imagined could exist; her long white-gold cables of hair had been twisted into a loose and messy bun at the base of her skull, but several long tendrils had been left to fall sweetly by her face, emphasizing her cheekbones and the length of her milky white neck. Wolff wasn't wearing much jewellery; just a simple chain around her neck, and a single gold ring on the fourth finger of her right hand.

But these were physical things, and they paled in comparison to the fire of Wolff's spirit.

Wolff radiated with happiness and warmth as if she were a star made flesh. She entered Anna's bedchamber with a generous smile on her face, so very different from the reserved nature of Anna's countrymen. Every part of her wanted to respond to that warmth, but Anna forced it all back.

Wolff was also carrying her kit, the handle looped over her elbow, as she was also bearing a vase of brightly coloured flowers. Anna recognized them all as coming from the gardens of Iskall Slott; gardens that she used to tend with great pleasure and joy. Within the vase were blue delphiniums, white daisies, red roses, and delicate sprays of babies' breath and fern.

The arrangement was obviously lopsided as well, as if Wolff had no talent at all for flower arranging. Anna's hands twitched to fix it. Just a few movements would have it aright…!

Wolff set the vase down on Anna's dressing table, placed her kit on the floor, and then turned to Anna to ask, "What is your favourite flower, my lady?"

Whatever Anna had expected her nurse to say on their first morning together, it was not that.

Somewhat cautiously, Anna replied, thinking of the boarding school in London, "Tulips are my favourite flower." Just what was Wolff up to?

"And your second favourite?" Wolff asked, coming to Anna's bedside to take her wrist and count out her pulse while looking at her watch. That at least was familiar.

"Roses."

"And what is your least favourite flower? One that if God had it in his celestial garden, you'd insist upon its eradication."

Anna pondered the question, as innocuous as it was, as she also pondered how it must have been Lily who had told Wolff about Anna's passion for flowers, gardening, and flower arranging. She also had a passion for painting and for horse-riding, but those pastimes had ended quite suddenly eight months ago.

Johan would never have thought of telling Wolff any such thing, but his American wife was sharp. Very sharp. Thank goodness she had kindness and compassion to temper her stark edges and insights.

"I do not have a least favourite flower, but I do have a least favourite plant," Anna decided to say.

"Go on, then," Wolff said, releasing Anna's wrist and standing at the edge of her bed. Anna could see Gerda smiling as she took up the not-quite-finished breakfast tray in her hands and awaited dismissal.

"Nettles," Anna shortly replied.

"Oh, that is an answer with a story attached to it, isn't it?" Wolff asked, her voice gently teasing. Oh, her friendliness was so innocent, and so very dangerous!

"Yes, but I won't be spilling all my secrets on the very first day," Anna replied, dredging up long-unused conversational skills, keeping herself at a distance using the subtleties of language itself.

"Touché," Wolff replied, using a French phrase that Anna somewhat recognized from her daughter-in-law, Helene. Laughter was evident in Wolff's voice, and the sound of it in this pain-ridden space was like champagne bubbles on Anna's tongue.

Gerda had been standing by the door, so Anna looked at her. "Will there be anything else, my lady?" Gerda asked.

"No, thank you, Gerda." Gerda bobbed her head and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Leaving Anna with her new nurse, and a day that stretched before her like a blank canvas, all unknown and unfathomable. Would it be a day filled with agony, ripping claws, and thunderstorms inside her head? Could Wolff's strange treatments alone stand against the pain that awaited her as the hours clambered over each other like wolves chasing lambs? Could Wolff help her combat the loneliness and despair that chewed on her?

Did Anna dare to be herself again, and communicate with Elsa Wolff as she would have done before the accident?

Wolff had begged for some time, time to prove herself. Johan had begged for her to give life a chance. Anna had denied them both.

For she had built walls over the last eight months; mental and emotional fortresses to protect and sustain her bones when all her bones had been broken.

But now, in the face of Wolff's warmth, in the light of another August day, the memory of her son's words upon her, Anna discovered that she just wanted to be Anna again.

How strange and remarkable! Did Anna Arendelle even exist anymore, or just this fractured caricature of her? Just who had been pulled out of the smoking wreck of the train that frozen wintery day?

This light banter was extremely dangerous. It called to the old Anna, the Anna she had once been. Could she pick up the shattered pieces of that Anna, and thus give up the Anna she had become?

Or was there yet another Anna, the Anna to be, awaiting a moment just like this one in order to be born?

"Have you ever been to Istanbul?" Wolff was asking.

"Istanbul?" Anna repeated, not quite familiar with the name, but willing, for the moment, to play along.

"Pardon me, I meant Constantinople," Wolff said, sitting on the chair perpetually next to Anna's bed, her cheeks slightly flushed with colour.

Anna lifted an eyebrow at her and stared before saying, "I must admit that this is the strangest morning conversation I've ever had with one of my nurses. Aren't you going to ask how I'm feeling?"

"All right, then. How are you feeling this morning, my lady?"

Anna paused for just a heartbeat, wondering if she dared to briefly resurrect her old self.

For Anna adored wordplay, and intellectual discourse, and appreciated wit more than nearly every other quality. It had been a long time indeed since she had to flex these old mental muscles; her previous nurses had been biddable, meek, and largely silent or intimidated.

She already knew that Elsa Wolff was not any of these things. This woman before her was anything but biddable or intimidated or compliant.

In Elsa Wolff Anna found a worthy adversary.

She dared not think of Wolff as a companion. Not yet. Probably not ever.

But she did dare open her mouth and say, "No, I've never been to Constantinople." Anna couldn't help but show a small smile at this slightly ridiculous exchange, the pleasure of this discourse bringing warmth to her chest.

But she wasn't ready to throw her fate in with Wolff yet. Time would tell.

Wolff smiled with her, showing an elusive dimple in her cheeks. "Just imagine it, Lady Skaldenfoss. The scent of spices in the air, blending with the smell of the sea and the smell of humanity. See the bolts of brightly coloured cloth sold at the bazaar, and the way the women carry their burdens on their heads, balancing them with such precision, such grace. Oh, the heat is intense, my lady, beating upon you like a hammer against an anvil."

Oh, yes, Anna could imagine these things. She had always had a vivid imagination. She had carried on conversations with paintings, she had whole life histories constructed for the ducklings in the yard, she could see shapes within clouds, and she believed that Odin had hung himself upon Yggdrasil for the understanding of the mysteries of the world.

That she herself could be hung upon this tree, to discover the mysteries of the world, had never occurred to her.

It would, in time.

"Imagine the flowers, my lady, the fragrances, the insanity of colour. The vendors of the stalls, they cast down broad arcs of water to keep down the dust, but it's never enough, not in August. The dust swarms up your legs, hungry for skin, for touch. The dust, it is _eager._

"The sound is cacophonous, my lady, there in the Great Bazaar, for every shop keeper wants to sell you their wares, and will shout and pull at you until you buy. This is chaos, Lady Skaldenfoss. Do you hear me? This. Is. Chaos.

"And it is beautiful. It has purpose beyond what can be seen with the naked eye. For even chaos bends, in the end, to the will of the infinite. It is part of the divine.

"Keep this beautifully chaotic city in your mind, my dear lady, as you taste this." Wolff reached down into her kit and pulled out a small box wrapped in tissue paper. She put it into Anna's lap and waved her hand as an invitation for Anna to open it.

Already Anna was learning that Wolff spoke on two different levels. The chaos of Constantinople was likened unto her own body, her own mind. She, Anna Arendelle, was this city, this chaotic city of beauty and colour…

It was too much. Her mind was so weak! No other nurse had so mentally challenged her.

Anna tried to file these words into her mind for later reflection even as she ripped open the tissue paper and opened the box to reveal twelve slices of semi-translucent rose-coloured jelly lightly dusted with confectioner's sugar. "What is this?" she asked.

"This, Lady Skaldenfoss, is Turkish Delight. I wish I could say that I brought it from Istan… sorry, Constantinople, but I did buy it from a specialty shop in Olso only yesterday morning. I wanted something exotic, something foreign, for you. This is a sweet that had been made specifically for the Sultan. It tastes of nobility… well, of nobility and rose petals.

"This is my gift to you on the first day of our journey together. This, my dearest lady, is how chaos is turned into pleasure. Please, try one."

Time somehow stretched.

Anna looked at the candy in her lap, and then at the fresh and hopeful face of her nurse. Part of her wanted to resist. Part of her wanted the endless sea, and her dead children.

But then she thought of little Heidi, of Olaf and Hans, and Claire, the eldest of them all.

Holding Hans in her arms. Watching butterflies in the garden with Claire.

 _No, there is more, ANNA_

Anna could not think only of her grandchildren. She thought of her son. Johan. His small, curious fingers as they had grasped ancient wooden toys. His perfect black hair. How her husband had smiled at her, as she held the babe against her breast. Leif and his cleverness, his quickness, his predilection for accident.

And her twins, her daughters, how they fought, how they loved!

All of this passed through the mind of the Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss in this moment. Candy on her lap, an invitation to journey within.

Dared she answer?

Anna Arendelle thought of her children, and grandchildren. Couldn't she gamble with this month, in the hopes of a better life? For their sake, she could try.

And maybe she could try for her own sake. For the Anna she had been, and the Anna she would become.

In the hope that the sea that she had to cross wouldn't be endless after all.

Would a future Anna look back on this moment and say that it was the beginning of it all?

"I will if you will," Anna said, proffering the box. Wolff took one and delicately bit it in half to savour it. Anna took a slice and also bit it in half. It started to melt in her mouth, and she took her time to enjoy every aspect of it, from the floral taste to the slightly grainy texture. She had never tasted anything like it before.

So Wolff had bought it yesterday, before the interview? It said something of her determination to succeed. Anna found herself admiring this foresight.

It spoke of an undeniable hope for all the best.

She finished her slice and set the box down on the table next to the flowers. "That's a rather remarkable thing," she said, softening her heart a little more. "You come with flowers and candy, as if to court me."

Wolff smiled, not flinching at the wrongness of the idea. "I suppose you could call this courting," Wolff replied. "Your mind, body, and spirit have been at war with each other for long enough. Time to fall in love again."

"Fall in love?" Anna responded, her voice dry. "With whom?"

Wolff's smile broadened. Her lips looked so generous and soft. "Yourself."

Anna's heart hiccupped.

Wolff leaned forward slightly, her smile now gone. "Time to call a cease-fire, and end the war. Your body needs to relearn how to relax and enjoy life. It has had to support you in pain for so long that it won't give up the fight very easily, if at all. Given time, we can trick your body into believing that you are healthy and whole. The mind, however, can't be tricked so easily, can it?"

Anna slowly shook her head.

"I already have a strong impression of the depth and keenness of your mind, Lady Skaldenfoss. Time to give it something else to focus on other than pain and inactivity."

After a quiet moment, Anna asked, "And my spirit?"

Wolff looked right back at her with those beautiful blue eyes. There was no trace of levity on her face anymore. With a look of utter seriousness, she took the vase of misaligned flowers and put it in Anna's hands. "Fix this," Wolff asked, her voice husky. "They need your touch. Make them right. Please."

It was the seriousness of Wolff's expression that made the moment memorable. Anna could have smiled for the cleverness of her nurse, but she did not.

Wrapped in silence, Wolff held the vase and Anna rearranged the flowers until they were nearly perfect.

Nearly.

"There," she said.

Wolff looked down at the arrangement, her eyes keen. She looked back up at Anna. "Why leave it so?" Wolff asked.

"As a testimony of things that are not perfect." Anna motioned for Wolff to place the vase back on the table next to the candy. By the look in Wolff's eyes, her nurse perfectly understood the point Anna had made.

Anna settled back into her pillow, thinking of what Wolff had just said about falling in love with herself. Mind, body, and spirit; none of her earlier caregivers had considered her mental and spiritual rehabilitation. This slight and challenging conversation with Wolff had only highlighted how weak and frail her mind had become.

There was quiet for a moment as Wolff and Anna regarded each other.

"I won't be able to trick you much, I think," Wolff finally said, a note of satisfaction in her voice.

"Perhaps not."

Another quiet moment passed. Anna could hear gulls crying out over the water. She had a brief but strong desire to see those gulls for herself, to sit at the base of the cliff under Iskall Slott and watch the surf.

Then she thrust all such fantasies away and focused on Wolff.

"Could I ask you, my lady, to check into your body?" At Anna's look of confusion, Wolff continued, "What I mean is to close your eyes briefly and feel into your body, send your mind in a quick scan from head to toe, and then open your eyes again. Give me a number for your pain, with one being very little and ten being absolute agony."

Anna did as Wolff bade, closed her eyes, and felt into her body with some trepidation. Her morning had been so strange, so new, that she hadn't realized how much pain she was in.

But now that she put her mind on it, the pain seemed to notice, and suddenly got a little worse. Her chronic headache throbbed a little harder in her temples, and her lower back growled a warning.

She shifted in her seat as she opened her eyes and said, "It's a four or five."

"It just got a little worse, too, didn't it?" Wolff asked. At Anna's nod, she continued. "That makes sense, because you put your attention on it. There is an ancient wisdom that remarks upon the growth of something when attention is paid to it. Our focus on it actually strengthens it. This can be a blessing, when we are learning new skills or when we want to enjoy a particularly lovely moment.

"But it can also exacerbate pain or negativity. To dwell too long on bad memories, or on negative emotions, can make them so much worse. The same goes with paying too much attention to pain."

Anna nodded when Wolff paused to take a sip of water. Anna had never heard of anything like this before, but the concept made sense. A strange and deep sense, as if her ancient bones had known this all along, and were just waiting for this moment of remembrance.

"Distraction will be part of my treatment strategy, Lady Skaldenfoss," Wolff went on to say as she gave Anna the box of candy and urged her to eat another slice. Anna did, listening carefully to her therapist as she savoured the Turkish Delight. "We will occupy your mind with other matters, keep you engaged with beautiful and challenging things, and one day when you check in to rate your pain, you'll find it won't be there. Or, if it is there, it does not scream for your attention like a rebellious child."

"If I eat candy every day, I won't be able to walk for very different reasons."

Wolff chuckled. "Believe me, my lady, you could stand to gain a few pounds. Unless gaunt has somehow come into fashion."

"I don't believe gaunt is ever in fashion, Miss Wolff."

"Then we certainly don't want you out of your rightful place in society for too much longer. You were made to be a Baroness, not act as a paperweight to your bed. There's much good to be done out there in the world. Let's get you back out there, where you truly belong."

Once again Anna had to slightly reflect on Wolff's strange turns of phrase. Did all Canadians speak as she did?

"How do you suggest we begin?" Anna asked. For eight months she had been part of someone's treatment strategy, but Wolff had already discarded everything remotely doctor-like and familiar. She honestly had no idea of Wolff's intentions.

"It would be very helpful to conduct my own examination, my lady."

Anna's heart sank. So she was to be poked and prodded and seen as nothing more than her broken body after all.

Wolff suddenly reached forward and took Anna's hand. Surprised beyond measure at her nurse's audacity, Anna's eyes latched on to Wolff's caring face. "I see your concern, Lady Skaldenfoss. As you might imagine, I have my own special way of getting to know you and your body." She released Anna's hand and reached down into her open kit, pulling out a bottle of skin cream. "I promise to make this as pleasant and pain free as possible."

"All right," Anna answered, still with some unease. This part was always painful. She couldn't feel anything in her legs, but her nerves were sensitive and wary, and her head tended to magnify every little woe in her body. She already had a headache; how much worse could it get before Wolff was done?

"I'll start with your legs, my lady," Wolff said, pulling aside the brightly embroidered coverlet to reveal Anna's right leg. She pulled up the gown to just above Anna's knee, and then tucked the coverlet back against the rest of her body in an unspoken consideration of Anna's privacy.

Wolff sat on the edge of the bed and took Anna's foot in her hands. Anna looked down the length of her withered body to see Wolff holding and manipulating her ankle and foot. It was so strange, to see yet not feel someone touching her. She gulped back old distress, the worry that perhaps she would never feel her feet again.

Wolff glanced up at her and smiled as she began to work in the skin cream. "This is your space, my lady. You set the boundaries here. It is your choice whether to speak or be silent. I will honour your wishes."

"I would prefer to listen to you speak," Anna ventured, wondering if this was all right to request. "Have you truly seen Constantinople?"

"With mine own eyes, my lady. It was some years ago. I spent only three days in the city; I was passing through it, making my slow and careful way from France to India, just after the war."

Elsa welcomed her lady's curiosity, but she had to choose her words carefully. It would be impossible to describe the city as she had first seen it when she was but twenty years old. This later description, her return to the city after the war in France came easier. She couldn't believe she had slipped up on the name; she had practiced saying Constantinople in her quarters last night as she had unpacked her small collection of belongings and planned her first day of rehabilitation.

But if Lady Skaldenfoss wanted a story, Elsa would give her a story. Just a highly edited one. She wished she could be honest with Anna Arendelle, and tell all her true stories, but she couldn't. She doubted she ever would. Elsa had shared the story of what had happened in the cave during the thunderstorm only twice in the last twelve years. Her Master in India had believed her.

Elsa missed her home and family so very much.

With many pauses that Elsa hoped would be seen as thoughtful consideration, Elsa told her story of Constantinople, and then the story of crossing the Caspian Sea and eventually entering India through the mountains to the north.

It was there that Elsa paused. By this time she had rubbed skin cream over both of Lady Skaldenfoss' legs, to just above the knee. She had taken her time and lavished much attention on the wasted muscles and shrunken tendons. Time and again she had to contain her anger at Lady Skaldenfoss' previous caregivers; the condition of her legs was nigh unforgivable. Had they done no rehabilitation at all? Had her lady merely lain in bed for the last eight months?

Elsa had noticed it yesterday, but it was even more apparent now. Anna Arendelle could not fully extend her paralyzed legs. Her tendons at the knee had shrunken, forcing them to stay slightly bent at all times. It meant that she kept her pelvis and hips slightly twisted most of the time as she sat against the headboard of her bed, to keep her knees from tenting. Small wonder she had such terrible backaches and headaches.

Elsa sat closer on the bed, next to those neglected knees, and began to rub the inside of the joint. Her narration slowed and then paused as her deft fingers found extremely tight ligaments and tried to release the pressure in them.

Elsa was surprised when Lady Skaldenfoss cleared her throat. Elsa looked up to see a strange expression on her pale, lightly freckled face. "If you look a little higher on that leg, you'll find the scar from my surgeries. I broke this femur rather badly. In fact, they nearly amputated it. On the other leg the break was further down, on the lower part of my leg."

Anna couldn't quite understand the expression on Wolff's face as she said these words. She had been listening with rapt attention to the story of Wolff's travels, recognizing somewhat substantial edges and edits throughout. She realized that she had time, however, to learn more about this intriguing woman, who dared both the blood and guns of the hospital tents near the front, and then a perilous journey across the continent. Why she dared such a difficult journey had not yet been shared, and Anna hoped she would eventually find out. Today was only their first day together, after all.

She was rather astonished to find this curiosity within herself; it whispered of the Anna of ago.

Yet as Wolff had come to her knees, and Anna spoke about her scars and surgeries, she thought she recognized the look on Wolff's face. It was a complex wash of anger, frustration, and determination. And all of it for Anna's sake, for the sake of her atrophied muscles, her bent knees.

Warmth flooded through Anna's chest, to have such righteous anger ignited on her behalf.

Yet she allowed none of this to appear on her face, even as Wolff flashed her a brief smile for her honesty and pulled up the gown further, enough to reveal this other set of scars above her knee.

And there they were. Wide. Pale. Ribbed. The scars made her skin pucker in several places. Anna found them revolting, but forced herself to look at them. They were part of her body now, and she was grateful for them. Better to have these scars than no leg at all. The break on her other leg had been even more terrible, for the bone had broken right through her skin.

Was it only her imagination, or did Wolff falter at seeing those scars? A gaping heartbeat of time passed, and then Wolff put another dollop of cream on her hands and began to rub the skin around the scar.

"Can you feel anything at all down here, in any part of your legs?" she asked as she worked.

"No, not a single thing." Anna paused, and then blurted out, "Aren't you going to ask me about the accident?"

Wolff looked right at her, those long white tendrils of hair now ghosting by her collarbones. "No, my lady. I'm not."

Unexpected relief flooded through Anna's besieged body, and her head abruptly throbbed. A little shaken, she asked a question with only her eyes, and Wolff answered it. "You don't need to relive it for me, Lady Skaldenfoss. Certainly not today. One day you may be inspired to speak of it, or you may want to share the burden of it with me, but that will be your choice. I can serve you without knowing exactly what happened." She caressed Anna's knee, oh, that was most definitely a caress, and softly said, "Your body is an open book, my lady. But for now your mind and your memories may stay shut. As you wish. When you wish to open the book, I will read."

Anna released the breath she had been unconsciously holding. She had dreaded having to dredge up those memories in order to relate the story. Each time she spoke of it, she remembered it. She remembered the shock of impact, the screech of the rails, the violent tipping of the carriage down, and over, and down, and over…

Pain so awful there were no words, pain that suddenly diminished as wreckage pinned her down, breaking her back.

Anna took another breath, stuffing those memories back into the vault where she usually kept them. They wouldn't be needed today after all.

Oh, but how her head was starting to roar!

So she saw Wolff give her leg one last stroke, and then she pulled her gown and the coverlet back in place and stood from the bed, taking a moment to stretch. She poured two glasses of water from the jug on the side table and handed one to Anna. Anna wasn't too thirsty, but Wolff finished hers before pulling the chair right next to Anna's bed and sitting again.

With a smile she wordlessly took Anna's left hand and began to rub it with the cream.

It was the first time Anna had been so physically close to her new therapist. From this proximity she could see a light spray of freckles across Wolff's cheeks, and she saw the tumultuous depth of the blue ocean of her eyes. There was tightness in those eyes, edges of secrets and hidden stories that Anna recognized all too well. Her hair really was an astonishing feature; rarely had Anna seen such white-blonde hair; it was the colour of new-fallen snow illuminated by an early spring dawn. Anna wondered how old she was, younger perhaps by far than her own 57 years, but didn't quite dare to ask.

Yet there were fine lines around her eyes and mouth, and there were those lines and pauses to her stories as well, all of which testified of age in the early forties, maybe even fifties.

Just where had this woman really come from?

And was Wolff speaking so carefully so as to ignite Anna's curiosity, and strengthen her mental muscles, or was this how she always spoke? Hmm. Anna would have to pay attention.

Anna had been unable to feel anything on her legs, but she could definitely feel the way Wolff massaged her hand. Her nurse worked slowly, quietly, paying exquisite attention to her fingers, her palm, and her wrist before moving slowly up to her elbow.

"Would you tell me about your home?" Anna asked, slightly nervous of this rather intimate silence. She hadn't been touched this much in a very long time; every part of her had yearned for this type of contact. Wolff also smelled as good as she looked; she wore a scent that was woodsy and floral at the same time, very near exotic.

Yet Anna also wanted to be distracted from the pain that had begun to radiate from the jagged ball of darkness that was her lower back and spine. Crisp beams of pain sizzled up her nerves to jangle in her head. She had grown so accustomed to lying about the pain, and not allowing it any space on her face, that she didn't want to mention it. The pain was making her tired. Soon, she could sleep it away, for a short time at least.

Wolff had taken a breath and then began to describe her prairie home. She had been born and raised near a town called Calgary, which rested on the banks of two rivers in Western Canada, close to a mighty range of mountains. The railway was coming through, bringing settlers, prospectors and immigrants, and rampant crime. It was a noisy and messy place of cow-yards and ranches and motels of shady repute. Her father had been a farmer, and their land was just a short distance from the town. Wolff had grown up on horseback, a prairie girl to her bones.

Every word called up a completely unfamiliar world to the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss, and she savoured the images spread before her mind.

Though again she noticed something odd about Wolff's storytelling, and this time it was a sense of strange rehearsal, as if Wolff had had to practice telling these tales in order to get them just right.

By the time Wolff had finished this introduction to her girlhood, she had rubbed skin cream over both of Anna's hands and arms.

"How on earth did you become entangled in the war? And what about Norway?" Anna asked, surprised at the place where Wolff stopped her narration.

Wolff smiled and stood up, this time knuckling her back as she stretched again. "That's a completely new story, Lady Skaldenfoss. We'll get there, I promise. My examination is almost done. Where do you hurt the most right now?"

"That really was your examination?"

"Yes. I identified various scars, noted which muscles have atrophied the most, released some tension in the ligaments of your knees, and so on. My lady, how much pain are you in?"

Time to own up to it. Anna remembered the scale, and said, "Six, maybe seven. In my lower back, and my head."

Thank goodness Wolff did not chastise her for her lie, or even give her a single sideways remark. She was discreet in her acceptance of Anna's words, and Anna appreciated that discretion. "If it please you, my lady, how about you take a powder now for your headache, and in a few moments I'll inspect your head to finish the examination. If the pain is still great at that moment, we'll do something else to ease you. Is that acceptable?"

Anna nodded.

Wolff bustled to the side table where she pulled out the familiar paper packet with the headache powder. Anna seriously doubted it would help very much. Wolff dissolved the packet in the water and then gave it to Anna. Anna drank it, pausing between swallows. Just as she was about to ask Wolff to close the shutters, Wolff rose to close them. Was she a mind reader? Or simply the most aware and observant person Anna had ever encountered?

She set the glass aside as the room dimmed. Wolff sat down beside her and waited.

Anna just wanted to sleep, so she said, "Go on, then."

"Could you show me where you fractured your skull?" Wolff asked.

Anna wore her hair in a braid most days, though Gerda had made her dazzle in the past with the newest and most fashionable styles. She wondered what people would think of this white streak in her hair, and the pale scar on her forehead. She pointed to the area just above that scar. The blow to her head had fractured her skull and lacerated a large portion of her scalp as well. The scar on her forehead was from a shard of glass, which had needed stitches. Anna remembered how terribly the scabs had itched, and she had been unable to touch them under the bandages.

"My lady, I would like to take a closer look at your head. I can either sit behind you on your bed, or lift you to sit on this chair. Which would you prefer?"

Anna wasn't ready to demolish all her walls, and the work this morning with Elsa Wolff had been more intimate than she had anticipated. No other nurse had been so immediately audacious and bold in touching and manipulating Anna's body. "The chair please," she said, with no further explanation. "Shall we ring for someone to lift me?"

Wolff shook her head. "Gaunt as you are, I'll be able to manage. Take a breath, my lady. This will hurt a little until I get you settled again. I'll be as gentle as possible."

Anna took several breaths as Wolff pulled down the coverlet, exposing Anna's rail-thin body with jutting knees. Her nurse's arms were slight but strong as they lifted her into the chair next to the bed. Anna adjusted her seat and put a hand to her throbbing temples while Wolff fetched a clean sheet from the wardrobe to cover her lap.

Then Wolff sat down briefly on the bed and looked at her. "Shall we wait for your pain to ease further, or shall we continue? You know your body best."

"We might as well go on," Anna whispered.

Anna brought her breath under control. The ball of darkness and pain had definitely begun to bleed like a runaway haemorrhage into the rest of her lower back and pelvis. Oh, for the brief moment of relief she had felt this morning upon awakening!

Wolff had been waiting once more, so Anna looked at her. Wolff's head was tilted, and Anna distantly noticed that her neck was very long and quite lovely, especially with the tendrils of glowing white hair that she tucked behind her ears. She must have reached into her kit, for there was a clouded glass bottle in her hands. "Shall we begin?" Wolff asked.

Anna nodded.

"This is an oil made from almonds, and it has an infusion of eucalyptus and peppermint in it. I'm going to put a few drops on your scalp and then work it in. I promise to be very gentle. You stop me at any moment if the pain grows too great, or if you want this to be over for any reason at all. Remember, my lady, you can speak your truth to me."

Anna nodded once more and watched as Wolff rose to stand behind her on the chair. First, her therapist untied the laces holding her braid together, and ran her hands through the strands to pick out the plait. Then Anna felt several drops of oil land on the crown of her head. Anna focused on the smell, so sharp and resinous.

Did this scent mean something to Miss Wolff, for it was certainly a beacon of memory for Anna Arendelle!

There had been a hint of it in her chambers yesterday, but she had been too addled to notice it. Today she was drawn into memory as inexorable as any tide, sliding along the pathway of scent to a summer spent in Greece when she had been seventeen years old, just following her graduation from school in London. The groves of eucalyptus had been immense, filling the air with their sharp and woodsy scent. Anna had needed the richness of those smells and the breadth of her time in Greece, to help soothe her tortured and confused heart.

Then Wolff began to run her fingers gently over Anna's scalp, using smooth and sinuous movements. She slid through Anna's hair, and then made circles of pressure over her scalp. Her breath was constant in Anna's ear, her nearness comforting.

Anna forgot the past.

Wolff's fingers continued to move like gloss over her hair and scalp. She moved gently, deliberately. It felt absolutely incredible. Where had she learned such things? Anna had never encountered any of them before, nor even believed such treatments could exist!

Anna forgot her pain.

Her world contracted in the newness of this sensation. At one particularly sweet spot, somewhere near the base of her skull, Anna had to bite back a moan. She opened her mouth, and exhaled pleasure over the blade of her tongue.

Anna forgot everything.

On and on it went. Time stilled. Pain slipped away. Contentment sifted through her veins like golden dust.

For what seemed a beautiful eternity, Anna bobbed along the edges of comfort and peace. The hurt of her lower back and head became so very distant, clouded behind these moments of sweet communion and pleasure.

Far on the tides she must have drifted, for she would never be able to pinpoint the moment when sleep came dancing to her, wrapping her in the softest of gauze, taking her for a brief span of time away from the shipwreck of her body and up into the very clouds.

Elsa knew it when her lady fell asleep. She could feel the heaviness, the lassitude building in her lady's body. Just as Lady Skaldenfoss fell asleep, Elsa stopped the treatment, pulling her hands from Anna's hair.

Then, before her lady could tip and wake, Elsa lifted her from the chair and back into her bed, curling her unfeeling legs to the side so she faced the center. Her lady woke only slightly, murmuring something before falling asleep again. Elsa pulled the coverlet over her and then stood to stretch.

Then Elsa tidied her little station, putting away her things. She sat down beside her lady's bed and pulled out a small diary. She made notes of her examination, and then looked at the time. She would start tracking her lady's sleeping patterns, how and what she ate, what mood she was in.

And when she was finished all these things, she merely sat at her lady's bedside to watch Anna Arendelle sleep. Elsa thought of things she loved and was grateful for. The last twelve years had been extraordinarily arduous; everything after the thunderstorm had been so very difficult.

The quiet of Lord Galthe's estate had been a balm to Elsa's heart. Yet her spirit had quailed with isolation and loneliness, not to mention the certainty of the young man's death. Though this work was much more challenging, Elsa found she was grateful for it. She knew this was her last opportunity to hopefully save a life.

This woman before her, her life was worth saving.

This woman before her, she was worth Elsa's everything.

So Elsa sat longer, her eyes upon her lady's slight form, the breath that yet illuminated her chest, and filled herself with gratitude.

And if she thought of her lost family, it was in small lapses, and should be forgiven.

 **A/N: Thanks for everyone who has left a review thus far. I appreciate every little word - helps me keep writing. If you like the story, please hit that button below and let me know! (And if you could ever share your favourite moments, I would also love to know about them.) -Jen**


	6. Chapter 6 - Uncanny

**Author's Note: Earlier in the story I mentioned a cave and a thunderstorm several times. I found they no longer supported the story, so from now on it will be the sea and a thunderstorm. I've gone back to fix a few things in previous chapters. It should be clear from now on.**

 **Enjoy the update. It's the longest one yet.**

...

 **Chapter Six -** **Uncanny**

And as Elsa Wolff had begun her bizarre and unorthodox treatment of Anna Arendelle, Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss, so she continued.

Anna had much to learn in the first six days of their work together. She learned an incredible amount, but not nearly enough about the woman herself, who continued to enchant and intrigue her, yet kept a strange distance.

Anna quickly learned that she would be permitted as much sleep as she could muster, but that she would have to work hard during her rehabilitation sessions to make up for it. Over the next six days Wolff slowly introduced her to some forms of exercise for her atrophied legs. Wolff was always gentle though she was often firm, and continually challenged Anna to try her hardest and do her best.

And where her previous nurses had left Anna alone and to her own devices for long periods of time throughout the day, Wolff became Anna's near constant companion. She provided Anna with privacy and quiet time when needed and requested, but she also scheduled short periods of leg rehabilitation three to four times a day.

At first Anna had feared this rehabilitation, remembering the botched attempts of previous caregivers, but then Wolff had proved to be gentle and knowledgeable in this regard as well.

In fact, as the first six days passed, Anna could only apply one word to Wolff's knowledge and expertise.

Uncanny.

Everything Wolff did, everything she taught continually bordered the distant edge of what Anna considered common sense and reason. It was as if Wolff's mind and techniques were from some distant future, though Anna came to the conclusion it must all be a result of her therapist's time in India. Anna had always believed the subcontinent to be a backwards place filled with superstitious and backwards people, but Wolff had confessed to much study and time there. Perhaps they were more advanced in some ways, but not in others.

To Anna's immense pleasure, Wolff immediately set some boundaries of her own. Set them, and maintained them, sometimes to the consternation of Anna's family.

The more romantic part of Anna cried out, _here is my knight!_

For example, for the last several weeks, ever since coming out of traction, Anna had tried to attend family meals and teas. She had wanted to involve herself in the affairs of the household. These attempts had often proved disastrous, for her family (especially her well-meaning but ofttimes inconsiderate son) had asked questions Anna hadn't wanted to answer, and sitting in her cushioned wheelchair had led to incredible backaches and headaches. Anna had begun to dread every invitation, afraid of the pain that would be the invariable result, and then she had felt guilty for not spending time with them, now that she could.

Wolff simplified it for her. She said that, for the first week, there would be no meals downstairs with the family. Of course Anna could leave her room if she wished, but it would be on her own time, and of her own volition. Perhaps a visit to the garden, or the library, in quiet and in peace. No one to hound her with questions about her well-being or the state of her mind.

Wolff then explained how Anna's pelvis had become misaligned, due to the shrunken muscles of her legs and tight ligaments of her knees. This misalignment of her pelvis and hips was leading to most of the pain Anna felt. It would take time to readjust her pelvis and spine, to limber her knees and rebuild her muscles.

Wolff further said that, at least for their first week together, they would not concern themselves with the feelings and wishes of other family members. They would focus on Anna's needs alone.

Wolff spoke rather vehemently on this subject which actually made Anna smile, and she gratefully agreed to the plan. She also appreciated how Wolff willingly became the scapegoat of the decision. When Johan came for one of their evening conversations and asked why she wouldn't be coming down anymore, Anna said it was Wolff's decision, and had something to do with Anna's misaligned pelvis.

It gave her incredible relief to have someone shoulder these mental burdens, to have someone support her in her endless pain.

As this first week together passed by, each day contained some small wonder or delight that became permanently etched in Anna Arendelle's memory. They stood out like polished jewels among the darkness and misery of the eight months that had gone before.

The first day was that of Turkish Delight and deliberately not-perfect flowers.

And she would remember the second day as that of kittens and grandchildren.

An hour or so after luncheon that second day, which Anna had taken alone on a tray in her room (Anna read her favourite book while recovering from the gentle leg extensions Wolff had performed in the morning), Wolff unexpectedly trouped into her bedchamber with a basket of three kittens.

Anna had been so astonished and so pleased; it had been months since she had seen any living creature other than her family. Wolff didn't say anything as she pulled out the fiercely cute little kittens and placed all three of them on Anna's lap. Two of them immediately engaged in a mock battle with each other while the third curled around Anna's outstretched hand.

Their colouring was unmistakeable, even these years later. Surely these kittens were the offspring, however distantly, of the cats that her Heidi had saved, all those years ago.

Anna daren't ask where these kittens really came from. She wanted to bathe in the fantasy before her, that perhaps these sweet creatures were alive because of her long-dead daughter.

Her heart in her throat with unexpected joy and grief, Anna held one of the kittens. She stroked its soft fur with her thumb, and smiled when the kitten gave a soft squeak of pleasure. The others tumbled down her coverlet as the mock battle continued.

Anna couldn't help but look at Elsa Wolff, who stood there by the bed, a universe of faith and hope in her eyes.

But before Anna could say anything, there came a knock on her door. Lily and Helene suddenly entered with Claire, Olaf and baby Hans. "Oui, oui, who do we see here?" Helene said, ushering her daughter before her.

Little Claire had Helene's darker colouring of hair and skin, but surely she had Anna's beloved Leif's nose and mouth and eyes!

Her eldest granddaughter, now six years old, held out a little posy of a flower. "For you, grand-mere," she said.

"Oh, sweetie," Anna whispered, her throat thick. She took the little flower. "Merci."

Wolff was somehow there with a glass half-filled with water, for Anna to put her posy in.

The grandchildren laughed to see the kittens. Lily and Helene did not ask Anna's permission; they placed the two grandchildren on the bed and they commenced playing. Anna was surprised at first, but then entranced by how careful Claire was around Olaf, and around the kittens. Helene had come prepared with several lengths of string; the children began playing with the kittens, enticing them, baiting them with the string.

Wolff came with chairs for Helene and Lily to sit on; Lily held baby Hans on her lap. Then Wolff retreated to the corner by the window, where she kept an eye on the proceedings.

Helene and Lily started nattering about something, speaking easily and with great fondness and simplicity. Anna wanted to take their warm and easygoing words and rub them into her skin as if Wolff's skin cream. Surely this was the balm she had always needed!

Simple, beautiful talk. Simple, beautiful moments.

No one else had known, not even Anna herself, what she had needed.

No one save Wolff.

The kitten on her lap wrapped its paws around Anna's knuckles and tried to gnaw on her. The other two were pouncing on Olaf and Claire, who played with them on the emptier side of the bed. Anna laughed aloud as Claire tickled the soft belly of one kitten, and Olaf tempted the other one with a brightly coloured piece of yarn.

Some time into the unexpected visit, Anna discovered that she was happy.

How wondrous it felt, to have even a brief moment of happiness!

She had been withdrawn for months, bedridden and depressed. Pain had been her only companion. She had rewritten her will, and decided to die.

Softly.

Completely.

With her death would come new life.

But then Elsa Wolff had come.

Elsa Wolff came with her marvellous hands and her compelling ideas and an unquenchable fiery spirit. She was as pale as ice and snow, yet she burned like a volcano; how did she survive this dichotomy in her body and spirit?

Yesterday there had been flowers and candy. Today there were grandchildren and kittens. A small part of Anna still wanted to resist, but the greater part of her was filled with anticipation: just what wonder might tomorrow hold?

Anna didn't know that her daughters-in-law had been carefully primed for this visit by Wolff. They had been told that this visit was not about conversation. It was only about grandchildren, and about kittens. It was about time spent together, and the simple enjoyment of company. They could speak of things, but only light and joyous things, treating topics as a bee treats a whole garden of flowers.

About ten minutes into the visit, Anna asked to hold the baby. Lily gladly handed him over.

"He's growing so fast," Anna whispered as she held the five-month-old baby. Hans was quiet enough in her arms, eager to grasp her fingers, eager to smile when she cooed at him. Anna bent her head to kiss his smooth precious forehead and felt, for the first time in months, a deep knife of joy pierce her heart. Pain began to spread through her back and shoulders, but Anna didn't care. This was worth it.

Anna looked up again, and saw the scene before her. Her daughters-in-law, so different from each other, like chalk and cheese, but now so friendly and so close. They were such lovely young women, these wives of her sons, why didn't she spend more time with them? Anna saw her grandchildren, still scrambling after the kittens and laughing. She could see so much of her dear Leif in Claire's features and thought how proud he would be of his wife and daughter, and how glad of how things had turned out. Oh, those had been hard, acrimonious years between she and Hans.

And there, seated at the far end of the room by the open windows, she could see Elsa Wolff. The sunlight glinted in remarkable beams off her platinum-blonde hair, and her nurse had a small, contented smile on her face.

Anna didn't say the words aloud, but she latched her gaze with Wolff's and mouthed, "Thank you."

Elsa nodded, and her smile deepened.

About ten minutes later, Elsa saw her lady pass into a most significant stillness. The nurse readily recognized that stillness and what it meant. Elsa rose from her chair, and Lady Lily immediately noticed. That had been the cue Elsa had told the ladies to watch out for. "Right then, it is time we let grandmamma get some rest," Lily called to the children, standing to take the baby back into her arms.

The children gave Lady Skaldenfoss warm hugs and kisses before leaving. Lady Lily and Lady Helene also came to her lady's side, kissing her cheeks and saying their adieux. The two young women herded all the children out of the room and shut the door behind them. The minute the door shut behind them, Lady Skaldenfoss closed her eyes and leaned back against the headboard.

A hand was lifted, to rub her temples.

Elsa squashed sudden trepidation in her heart. Had it been too much, too soon? Had it been an ordeal instead of a delight?

Elsa came to the bedside with the basket and started to collect the kittens. One of them sought shelter back in her lady's hand. Elsa had leaned quite close to collect the cheeky little kitten; at that same moment, Lady Skaldenfoss opened her eyes.

Those blue-green eyes were somehow haunted yet so deeply joyful. Elsa felt those eyes call to her like sirens. This weighted gaze struck hard, struck deep.

Elsa felt winded.

 _(not again!)_

Lady Skaldenfoss did not speak. She merely cupped the kitten in her hand and gave it back to Elsa. Their fingers brushed against each other; Elsa felt a shiver ignite her spine.

The last kitten in the basket, Elsa turned to exit the room and return the darling creatures to the stable where she had found them. "How could I have forgotten?" her lady whispered, as Elsa walked away. "How could I have forgotten the simple beauty of kittens, and of grandchildren?"

Elsa did not answer. Some questions didn't need answers.

Their third day would be known as the day of clothing and secret signals.

Anna had become accustomed to spending her days in cotton or satin nightgowns, with a robe on top if there was family visiting her. She had only dressed up, donning stays or corsets and dresses, if she attended a family tea or meal.

On their third day together, Wolff explained the value of having different styles of clothes for the bedchamber. She described a type of shift that had a slit from the neck hem to below the waist, which could be closed with laces or buttons. With such a shift, Wolff could more easily access Anna's skin to massage her during her many spasms.

Wolff also convinced her to wear long and somewhat loose pants during their leg rehabilitation sessions. For the first two days, 'rehab' (for such was Wolff's strange cut-off word for it) had been nothing more than gently rotating her ankles and bending her knees. But as Wolff described some of the exercises that were to come, extending her legs every which way, Anna thought of how exposed she would feel with gowns and agreed to the pants.

Gerda was a capable seamstress, and was charged with altering some garments and making others as per Wolff's design.

And then Wolff taught her a secret signal. If they had company, and Anna's pain grew too great to manage in front of them, she didn't have to say anything and admit to it. She could just look at Wolff and tap her elbow or wrist, or anyplace on her arm. If needed, she could include a number of taps, to rate her pain. It could be quite discreet, and then Wolff could use her influence as Anna's nurse to simply end whatever was happening, giving appropriate excuses.

Again, this concept made complete sense to Anna, but she had never thought of it herself. Neither had any of the other nurses or doctors she had encountered over the last eight months. The discretion of it, the privacy it would afford; it was balm to her shattered self-confidence, a boost to her spirit.

Just how did Elsa Wolff know all these things?

And the fourth day was the day of baklava and family tea. Wolff had requested this special and exotic dessert from Greece for Lady Skaldenfoss, and their cook, Mrs. Henriksdotter, had more than delivered. Wolff had also arranged for Gerda to do up Anna's hair, and there was a new robe that Lily had ordered from Oslo for Anna to wear. At tea-time that day, Johan, Lily, and Helene came to join Anna in her bedchamber for this special tea. They all ate the baklava, and drank strong sweet Greek-style coffee while seated around Anna's bed.

Again, Lily and Helene had been specially primed by Wolff for this tea, with instructions not to speak of her rehabilitation or illness, unless Anna brought up the topics herself. They were to speak of everyday things, even including current issues facing the Barony. Lily was to argue with Johan if she felt like it, Helene could speak of Leif and France; in short, they were to act as if Anna were well and whole. They were to treat her as they had treated her in the past.

Anna didn't know all this. All she knew is that she could taste the nuts in the baklava and remember the slight salt sting of the Aegean Sea, and see the sun blazing on the whitewashed buildings. She ate the baklava, savouring it on her tongue, the papery nature of it, the sweet syrup, and chased it with a tiny sip of strong sweet coffee. All while listening to Lily and Johan argue over falling revenues from the fishermen in the village, or the dilapidated nature of the orphanage in Larvik. The conversation somehow shifted; Helene had an anecdote to share from her childhood as a daughter of a tenant farmer near Reims.

The one time that Johan started to ask how Anna fared with her rehabilitation, Anna actually saw Lily dig her elbow into Johan's ribs before complimenting Anna on her looks, saying how striking that white streak actually was within the fiery redness of her hair. Anna had to withhold a grin; Lily wasn't always very subtle, but she was a dear girl, and Anna adored her.

Why had she never invited her family to her room for tea before? The thought had never crossed her mind.

Nearly an hour had passed before Anna tapped her wrist. She could see Wolff in the corner of the room, watching the proceedings while staying distinctly apart.

"If it please you, I now have a rehabilitation session with your lady mother," Wolff said, coming forth from her place of distance.

It worked. This secret signal actually worked.

They all kissed her cheeks as they left, her son completely oblivious to what had just occurred, yet her daughters-in-law seemed somewhat more cognizant; glances went between lady and therapist as they exited the room. Gerda immediately came to clear away the tea.

And then Anna was left alone with Wolff, who urged her to a more comfortable position upon her bed, and began to work on her ankles and knees. "You arranged all this, didn't you?" Anna asked.

"Yes, my lady," Wolff admitted. "Hush now, focus all your attention upon your foot, upon your ankle. Roll back time; consider your leg as it had been a year ago. So hale, so healthy, so whole… Breathe _into_ your leg, my lady, breathe as I have been teaching you…"

It was only their fourth day together, yet Anna could no longer refuse her. Anna breathed, the slow and rhythmic breaths that Wolff had indeed been teaching her. And Anna sent her thought into her paralyzed legs, as if her thought alone could reignite them, provide a living spark to their deadness, and resurrect them to light and life.

Some time later, in the shuttered afternoon darkness, Anna finally whispered, "Thank you, Wolff."

Her nurse smiled at her, and continued working.

Oh, yes, Anna had known just who had arranged the exotic dessert, and who had primed her daughters-in-law. It had been the first time in months that they all spoke together as if Anna weren't stuck in her bed, as if Anna weren't an invalid. They treated her as a Dowager Baroness. Anna almost found herself forgetting that she was a strange and ruined creature.

But only later that day she remembered it, and remembered it well. Wolff had taxed her, overestimated her abilities, and that evening there was no amount of massage or pressure that could ease Anna Arendelle's pain.

For nearly an hour Wolff tried her special techniques, to no avail. As tears of frustration and pain trickled down Anna's cheeks, Wolff brought out the bottle of laudanum and gave Anna a dose in her tea. Anna sipped it slowly, gulping down her tears. She handed the cup back to Wolff, and was astonished to see consternation and misery on her therapist's face, as if Wolff blamed herself for Anna's pain.

Anna wanted to tell Wolff that it was all right. That she had enjoyed the tea with her family, with the baklava, the coffee, the light and sweet talk.

But her teeth were a blockade. Her pain made soldiers of her vocal cords. She could not speak.

This was the first time Wolff had been forced to give Anna laudanum. Anna swallowed the opiate, and then waited for Wolff to leave the room, leave her to her misery, just as all her previous nurses had done. Everyone else had taken this time to amuse themselves with reading or embroidery or mending, or just small talk down in the servants' quarters awaiting Anna's eventual summons.

Wolff did not leave her.

The room was mostly dark; the shutters were closed against the late summer daylight that was so forceful in Norway. Only the lamp provided light.

The opiate was working; Anna felt herself sliding into a semi-somnolent state. Her pain, as ravaging as wolves, had been placated with a sacrifice of fresh meat other than her own. She would not be devoured, not today.

Anna tumbled down this fuzzy yet jagged slope of narcotic, feeling the skies tumble above her. She wanted to reach out with her hand, to see where Wolff really was. Her nurse. Her saviour.

Wolff had sat down on the edge of Anna's bed. Anna had been placed on her side, for once facing the outer edge of the bed, not the inner. If she could but reach out, she could touch this woman, and comfort herself.

But her muscles were turning to lead. Only lead. Such a useless, worthless ore.

And then Wolff stretched forth her hand, there on the edge of Anna's bed, and she put her palm flat on Anna's hip.

"I'm here, dearest," Anna thought she heard Wolff say. "You are not alone."

Anna wanted to open her eyes. She wanted to see Wolff sitting there. She wanted to sup on Wolff's health, her vitality. But the painkiller was dulling her senses as well as her pain.

Wolff began to read to her, from Anna's favourite novel.

This difference in care was astonishing. Wolff did not ignore her, did not withdraw from the demons of agony that ravaged her with tooth and claw; she sat right beside Anna and provided her own bounty of warmth and touch.

That hand on her hip.

That dusky, silken voice.

That _presence_.

Anna couldn't even describe how lovely it was to know that Wolff was there with her. That Anna wasn't battling the pain alone. For the first time in eight months, Anna Arendelle had a champion, someone who fought alongside her.

Her thoughts were so muzzy now with painkiller; the words coming from Wolff's mouth were just slips and sighs of purple noise, but that hand on her hip, that was substantial. It anchored her like a drifting ship. It was a lighthouse upon the shore of a loathsome and voracious sea.

When the deep spasm and bout of pain finally eased, and Anna returned to herself some time later, she returned to the sight of Wolff's caring face. Her nurse was still there, sitting right beside her on the bed, her hand still upon Anna's hip.

The first tentative blossom of affection for this woman bloomed in Anna's heart.

Wolff was ready with warm water to wash Anna's face and hands, and a glass of cool water to temper the dryness of her mouth and throat. Wolff didn't speak much as she served Anna so faithfully and so well; was it hard for Wolff to see Anna in such pain? Surely it could not be easy to watch someone suffer, even without ties of love and family.

Wolff looked especially exhausted that evening after such a long and difficult day, and Anna dismissed her soon afterward. She fell asleep on her own that evening, thinking of her children, and of the taste of baklava and coffee, and how it felt to have Wolff's hand on her hip.

On Saturday, the fifth day of Wolff's employment, she came into Anna's room with the now familiar look of mischief and anticipation on her face. The carpenters had finished building the custom table she had ordered, and it would be installed in Anna's private bathing chamber that morning. Wolff began to work on Anna's ankles and knees and told her about the table and its uses.

"The technique of pressure points that I use to bring down your headaches has even greater healing benefit when applied to the whole body," Wolff explained. "On such a table I can more easily access both of your legs, and your lower back and pelvis as well. Finally we can begin to readjust your pelvis and spine and get you back into alignment. Then I can also massage your muscles, to help alleviate the stress and pain caused by the physical rehabilitation of your legs. I won't make any promises, my lady, but this is one way in which we might be able to determine if you can regain the use of your legs."

That afternoon the table and its thin, custom mattress had been installed and inspected. After tea, which Anna had in her bedchamber with Helene and Lily (Johan was in the village, meeting with the council about the state of the orphanage), Wolff wheeled her into the bathing chamber and showed her the table. It was somewhat narrow, and taller than a standard bed, with a curious headrest; it was round and had a large hole in the center. "What exactly happens here?" Anna asked, looking at a type of table she had never imagined could exist.

"I will lay you face-down, my lady, with your head upon the rest. It's designed so you don't have to turn your head to breathe, so your spinal cord is aligned. I will work on your legs and lower back and shoulders. Then I will help you turn over, so I can work on your head and neck."

"Am I… um… clothed throughout?" Anna asked.

"Until you are comfortable with the treatment, you may continue to wear a light shift, and I'll work over your clothes. But it's best to work with bare skin. You'll keep your drawers on, and the rest of you will be bare. Most of the time you'll be covered with a sheet or a light blanket for privacy and comfort; only the part I'm working on will be exposed. I will use a light oil on your skin to facilitate the massage, like I did on our first day together."

"Did you learn all this in India?"

"Most of it in India, yes," Wolff replied. "The science of it goes back centuries. However, I have made some changes to suit my personal practices."

"How often might we be using this treatment?"

"At least once a day. As I increase your leg rehabilitation, we will probably go up to twice a day, once in the morning after our longer session, and once in the later evening to help you sleep. But for today, I'd like to try it right now, if you're willing. You may have a chaperone or companion watch over you if you wish."

"That won't be necessary, I trust you in this. I remember that first massage you gave me. It felt marvellous. Let's try it."

Her therapist's smile was as warm and welcoming as ever. "All right, then, my lady. If you can move forward slightly in your chair, I'll lift you onto the table." Soon Wolff had her sitting on the edge of the table. Together they eased the robe off her shoulders, and then Wolff helped her lie fully face-down on the table, her head quite comfortably resting in the peculiar headrest.

"You may lay your hands by your sides, my lady," Wolff softly murmured as she put a comforting hand on the sheet over Anna's back.

Anna extended her hands along her sides, breathing carefully as Wolff had been teaching her. Her head had ignited somewhat with her movement; her headache throbbed behind her eyes. "Well done, Lady Skaldenfoss," she heard Wolff say. "Just breathe for a moment. Take your time. We have time for all good things."

This was a favourite saying of her therapist, and each time she heard it Anna was more inclined to believe it was true.

It was impossible. Time was a thief.

But it was also true.

It was helping to rewrite her perception of minutes, of hours. For the first time in months, Anna Arendelle was able to see a _possibility_ of an ending. That, should all the stars in the universe align in her favour, her never-ending pain might actually cease.

Might.

Wolff's hand was upon her back, grounding her as surely as the day before. Anna wanted to open her mouth, and tell Wolff how it felt to have her hand so secure, so firm upon her pain-wracked body, but she just couldn't.

Anna's breathing became slow and regular. Wolff then unfurled a sheet to cover her body, gave her a reassuring squeeze, and then moved to close all the shutters in the room, making it dark and warm.

Like a womb.

Wolff returned to her. "Here we go, my lady," Wolff said as she moved to Anna's feet. "Because you cannot feel what I'm doing below your waist, I'll speak a little as I work to let you know how we are progressing through the treatment. Believe it or not, the more I stimulate the nerves of your feet and legs, the better the chances that you will be able to feel them again, my lady."

It could have been a rhetorical question, but Anna did not treat it as such. "I believe you," Anna whispered.

For so she did. Somehow she had come to believe that it was possible.

As remote, yet, as time travel, or flight to the furthest stars.

But still possible.

It was strange to lie there on this narrow bed and hear the sounds of Wolff working on her legs. Anna knew that her therapist was touching her feet, but she couldn't feel anything.

Oh, to turn back the clocks of time but a single year, to tell the Anna of ago how precious, how wondrous her legs were!

Anna had thought herself so wise, so aged. But she had been so naïve!

She had danced with Hans by the light of the Christmas tree not but a year ago. Their traditional celebration, a mix of English and Norwegian traditions, had become the highlight of the season for their Barony. If only she could whisper to the Anna of a year ago, and murmur of the changes to come!

Anna had loved her husband at that moment, dancing by the Christmas tree. Twirling, moving to the latest music.

Dancing always made her affectionate. Dancing… could erase many things.

She had nearly forgiven him by that point. Surely it had only been the one time that he had cheated on her!

But then circumstances made her regret. Her current circumstances made her take battle in ordinary situations, and fight those who would help her.

Anna had fought her son, her daughters-in-law.

But, strangely enough, Anna did not fight this. Not now.

For Wolff stood next to this strange elevated bed and touched her muscles and skin. She murmured low and endearing words as she worked, letting Anna know how she moved about. Wolff was patient and thorough, carefully working on Anna's ankles, calves, and knees.

Some time later Anna felt Wolff's hands on her lower back, working on her buttocks and pelvis. The pressure of her hands was diffused through the clothing, yet still felt incredibly lovely. Anna could only imagine how it might feel to work on bare skin, but she was glad Wolff chose to work on top of her clothes this first time.

Now that Wolff didn't have to tell where she was working, she lapsed into silence.

In the days since her arrival Wolff had answered nearly every question put to her, but she rarely volunteered information of her own volition. Anna knew only a little about her growing up in the prairies. There seemed to be a canyon of missing time between the prairies and her work in the war. The scholarship in India came sometime between; where else had Elsa Wolff learned everything she knew?

Did Wolff even realize that Anna knew about this canyon of time, and the edges to her stories? What was she trying to hide? Or was this merely a desire for privacy, for some personal stories not to be fodder to this woman Wolff served? Anna already feasted on Wolff's talents and knowledge, had she a right to Wolff's history as well?

No, she had no right. Anna even understood the need to keep some things private; three years had passed since she caught Hans having sex with the Baroness of Falk and Johan still did not know. No one in the family knew.

There were deeper stories yet, stories of tulips and stars and kisses, that had never passed over Anna's lips.

But as Wolff continued to work in silence, Anna realized that she wanted to hear these stories. She wanted to discover the edges of Wolff's stories, fill in that canyon of time, because these were very good things, and there was time for all good things.

This desire for connection was also growth and revelation. Anna thought back to Wolff's first day and wished she had allowed herself to call her nurse by her first name, as Wolff had requested. Anna had only wanted distance, and a soft tide to go die upon, but the past five days had proved just how tenacious and creative her therapist was, how dedicated to overcoming all Anna's barriers.

Could Wolff have invested herself so deeply in all her patients? Was this the same persistent and devoted care she had given to the dying young Lord of Galthe? How did Wolff manage to stay so strong while constantly exposed to pain and heartache?

So much about Elsa Wolff was mysterious. Just yesterday Anna had heard more about her scholarship in India, the only woman student of a Master of ancient healing and meditative practices. Wolff had described the monastery in the mountains in the north of India, and the impact of her studies there.

Today, as Wolff's confident and experienced hands moved along her back and shoulders, Anna felt herself blessing whatever vagary of fate had conspired to send this woman along those thin and treacherous mountain paths, seeking ancient wisdom.

What kind of vagary had it been, this fateful choice to go high into the mountains, learning techniques that would be of such incredible benefit these years later for a noblewoman of Norway?

The movement and pressure of Wolff's hands were marvellous against her always aching back. Long swoops of her hands occasionally tripped and tangled over her shift, and Anna realized why it would be important to work with bare skin. It must feel a hundred times better than even this.

Only when Wolff quietly asked if Anna were ready to turn around did Anna realize that she had been peacefully drifting on the edge of sleep. Her limbs were beautifully heavy as clay and she needed much assistance to turn from her back to her front. Astoundingly, her pain remained quiet and docile as she moved about until situated again. "What do you think of the treatment so far, my lady?" Wolff asked as she settled the sheet over Anna's wasted frame. She sat on a stool behind Anna's head and gently undid the braid that Gerda was forever putting back in.

Her fingers began to stroke Anna's scalp, running through the greying strands of her hair, and Anna sighed with pleasure. "I'm not sure I'm capable of thinking anything," Anna murmured as Wolff massaged her scalp.

"May I assume that you would like this to continue on a daily basis?" Wolff asked, bubbles of contentment and joy in her voice.

"Yes, oh, yes," Anna breathed.

…

The following day was Sunday, the last day of August. Elsa had her first day off since arriving at Iskall Slott. She checked in briefly with Lady Skaldenfoss in the morning, ensuring that there was a spare nurse in attendance from the local hospital (unfortunately not Mother Magda), and then Elsa was free to spend the day as she wished. Some of the other castle servants had organized a picnic, and had invited Elsa to join them, but she declined.

Elsa knew what she really needed. This type of work was more wearing and exhausting than most people would realize, and her day of rest was vital for her self-care.

With an eye on the capricious clouds above, Elsa tucked an umbrella over one arm and a basket in the other. She set out for the village of Larvik that was not too distant from the castle walls. She walked with an easy pace, grateful to have this opportunity to stretch her legs and reach a nice rhythm of walking.

While in the village, Elsa shopped at the apothecary, stocking up on herbs and oils. At another vendor she bought a new type of tea, supposed to aid in sleeping. Nights were getting quite difficult. Sleeping straight through was impossible; all she desired now was more than five hours of unbroken sleep.

Elsa then walked to the harbour and port that was on the edge of the village, overlooking the sea. She looked to the north, towards the capital city of Oslo. There was a peninsula along the way, some fifteen kilometers from where she stood now. The tip of it had the quaint and appropriate name of 'Verdens Ende'.

That's where she eventually washed ashore, bearing only her clothes and her pack, after the storm had finished making a mockery of her entire life.

It had signified the end of many things for her. The beginning of many others.

It was strange to be so close to this place again. Elsa had crossed many thousands of miles and lived in several continents since that disastrous accident. Twelve years had passed by. Now that her time was running short, Elsa was glad she was creating a circle of this strange life, and had returned to the beginning of all things.

At that moment, Elsa decided that she would take a horse and ride out there, on her next day off. She wanted to see the place with these older and more experienced eyes, one last time.

Elsa leaned on a weathered wooden railing, her basket at her feet. Thinking. Remembering. Feeling homesick and heartsore. She turned the gold ring on her finger and was grateful that there had been people in her life that she had trusted with all her truth. Anna Arendelle most likely would not be one of them. Elsa would heal her, help her walk again, and then Elsa would no longer be part of her life.

Elsa took several deep breaths, smelling fish and tar and brine. She missed the smell of horse, and sagebrush, and ripe apples on trees. She missed the sour taste of pickles, and the salt taste of seaweed wrapped around her aunt's sushi.

There were things she missed even more, but even now Elsa did not allow herself to think about them. She needed her spirits to be light, and fresh, and not coated with the clay of the past.

Finally she picked up her basket and turned back towards the castle and her new home. Not that any place had really felt like home in the last twelve years, though perhaps the monastery in India came close. Her true home was many miles and many years away.

On her walk back to Iskall Slott, Elsa mentally rehearsed her stories. Harald Galthe had been an introverted young man, and hadn't asked many questions. His parents were not often at the country house, not until the end drew near, and they treated her only as a servant.

Anna Arendelle, on the other hand, was very different. Already her lady was asking questions that Elsa was hard-pressed to answer. She had skirted around stories of her family and her home long enough; she could feel her lady's curiosity growing. This was a good thing, this meant that she was indeed coming back to life as everyone had hoped, but it also meant that Elsa would have to start telling stories she was ill-prepared to share.

If anyone ever dared to steal her belongings, or go through her meagre possessions, they would find things she would be completely unable to explain. Everything she had been wearing the night of the thunderstorm washed up on the shore with her.

Thank God for the book, and how carefully she had wrapped it so long ago. She had looked in it just last night, re-reading a certain passage for the tenth or twelfth time. Tomorrow would be the first day of September. This month would be critical for Anna Arendelle. Elsa would have to be dedicated, vigilant, and tenacious. There was no way Lady Skaldenfoss would pass away on her watch.

Elsa thought of those teal eyes, that bright red hair with the incredible blaze of white, the smile that was starting to appear more and more often. It was intolerable to even imagine this dear lady as dead.

It was pleasant to think of her lady, so Elsa did so as she walked, and then she thought of what she might tell her lady about her family. The new lies had to mesh well with older ones.

She soon arrived back at the castle, had lunch with the rest of the staff, and then took one more walk through the castle grounds, visiting places she had barely seen in the week since her arrival. She wandered to the stables, to chat amiably with the head groom and admire the stallion, three mares, and two foals that were there. The groom confirmed that the older mare was definitely spirited enough to manage a ride of thirty kilometers, but not too spirited for Elsa to manage.

After the stable she strolled through the gardens, surviving a brief bout of afternoon rain (glad that she had brought the umbrella with her yet wishing she could allow herself to just get wet). Elsa then returned to the house, got permission from Kai to sit in the library (the family was out visiting relatives), and perused the books before selecting a volume of poetry.

It was there that Gerda found her.

"Miss Wolff, are you able and willing to come up? Her ladyship is in so much pain. The spare nurse wanted to administer laudanum, but Lady Skaldenfoss has asked for you instead."

Elsa immediately set the book aside and followed Gerda up the stairs to the gallery, passing by the red-faced and rather disgruntled spare nurse who stormed off in the other direction. When Elsa entered her lady's room, the first thing she noticed was that all the windows were at least closed and shuttered. The room was dim but still quite warm.

Lady Skaldenfoss had been lying on the bed, facing the door that Elsa would enter. Her eyes opened as Elsa came into the room. She opened her mouth and whispered, "Thank god it's you."

Elsa's heart wrenched within her chest. Lady Skaldenfoss looked absolutely ruined. There was a desperate and mute horror in the dark chasm of her eyes. It was horror too deep to be named, a horror that surely must tear at the very soul of her, a horror that whispered of pain that would never end, that life would never be sweet again, that life could only be an unending recitation of jangled nerves and torment. There would be no help for her on this shore of the endless sea.

Oh, yes, Elsa saw Lady Skaldenfoss and grieved for her.

"Yes, my dear lady, I'm here," Elsa said, sitting on the edge of the bed to take Lady Skaldenfoss' hand. "Tell me, sweetheart, where does it hurt?

Her lady opened her mouth, but at first only a sob came out. When she tried again, all she could say was, "Oh, Wolff!"

Then Lady Skaldenfoss turned her head into her pillow and covered her eyes and face with her free hand while her shoulders shook with restrained sobs.

This voiceless despair clanged hard and deep in Elsa's heart, making a dragon of it.

Elsa turned to Gerda, her voice crisp. "Gerda, I need a hot water bladder, and a hot kettle of water as well as a deep wide bowl. From the kitchen I'll need a bowl of ice, a bunch of basil, and several tablespoons of cinnamon powder."

Gerda didn't even flinch at the strange requests; she just nodded and left the room. "I'm here, dear heart, it's going to be all right," Elsa murmured as she slid off the bed to walk to the wardrobe and fetch her kit, painfully aware of how Lady Skaldenfoss had clutched her hand as long as she could. She brought her kit as well as several towels and washcloths to the side of her lady's bed. She sat down behind her lady's writhing body. She pulled back the light coverlet and began rubbing soft circles of pressure over her satin nightgown.

"Breathe for me, honey," Elsa whispered into Lady Skaldenfoss' ear. "I'm here, you're not alone."

Her words, meant to be comforting, caused another earthquake of sobs from her lady. Elsa continued to rub her lady's back. A short time later, Gerda returned with a tray full of the items Elsa had requested, and set them all out on the little table by the bed. "Can I get you anything else?" Gerda asked. Her face was pale and worried.

"If it please you, Gerda, we will need absolute privacy for the next little while. No visitors, no disruptions. Could you see to it?" Gerda nodded and left.

Elsa dampened a towel with some water and wrapped several ice cubes in it. She tucked it at the base of Lady Skaldenfoss' head. She took the basil and began ripping it into pieces, and then cast the shredded pieces into the bowl. She poured the hot water from the kettle over it, and a sweet, clean smell immediately permeated the room.

Elsa cautiously dipped a cloth into the basil-infused hot water and wrung it out. Leaving one hand on her lady's back for comfort, she leaned over her lady's body with the wet cloth and deposited it on her lady's pillow. "Breathe for me, my dear. Breathe in that good, clean scent. Breathe as I've been teaching you."

She watched as Lady Skaldenfoss started to rein in her sobs, breathing deeply of that sweet, green air. A moment later Elsa asked, "I want to be sure, my lady. Is your head paining you? Tap the sheets twice if you cannot speak."

Two taps.

Elsa turned to the bowl of cinnamon powder. She dampened the cinnamon with water and began making a paste of it. "I've got a paste for your headache, my lady. You don't need to move yet, I'll just apply it to your temple, to your forehead." Elsa carefully applied some of the pungent spice to her lady's temple and as far along her forehead as she could reach. When she was finished, she retrieved the basil cloth, re-wet it, and put it back in its place.

Already her lady was starting to breathe a little easier, though her shoulders and back still vibrated with pain and concealed tears.

Elsa lifted away the ice pack and then tenderly grasped her lady's cool and damp neck. "My lady?" she whispered, close enough to smell the basil and cinnamon. She could see the slender curve of her lady's throat, and how her breath still caught like hooks inside it. "This will pass. It is but a moment, and it will end. The next moment is also filled with pain, but it will also pass away. That is the gift of pain, my dear one. It is here one moment, and we can absorb it with the next. Stay here with me, honey. We'll greet the pain together. I'm here, dearest."

Elsa could see her lady's jaw ripple as she opened her mouth and spoke. "No laudanum," Lady Skaldenfoss whispered through gritted teeth. Her fingers were white, and tangled in the sheets.

Elsa's heart shuddered with admiration and pride. "No, my dear one. No laudanum. We won't need it. Not today. Remember how the massage felt yesterday? If you would permit me, I could do so much more with using oil on your bare skin."

"I trust you."

"I won't move you to the other room, my lady," Elsa said. "For now, we'll stay here. Just let me place you almost entirely on your front." Elsa put her lady into position, careful to make sure the neck was aligned with the spine, and then she adjusted her lady's hips and legs as well. "Now I'm going to open your shift, and put some heat against your shoulders while I work on your lower back." Elsa deftly untied the laces that Gerda had sewn into Lady Skaldenfoss' shift. Soon she could see the pale fair freckled skin of her lady's naked back, complete with the ridged and ropy scars above her pelvis.

She wrapped the hot water bladder in a towel and tucked it across her lady's shoulders. Once more she moistened the basil cloth and put it near her lady's face. Then she put small dollops of oil on her hands, making them slick, and began to rub the small of her lady's back.

Soon she lost herself in the rhythm of the movements, the glides and circles, the slight pressures and soft releases, all of it like painting, all of it like music, rising and falling in intensity and brilliance, returning again and again to the lower spine and the source of her pain. The muscles of her buttocks and pelvis were wretched with long convalescence and atrophy, the cords withered and inactive. Elsa could even see the healed marks of bedsores, and she contained a raw surge of anger that Lady Skaldenfoss' care hadn't always been adequate.

Elsa breathed, and Anna breathed with her.

Anna continued to breathe deeply of the basil-scented cloth, and she deliberately tried to relax her hands and release their grip on the sheets. The initial relief brought by Wolff's arrival and her strange treatments (really, cinnamon on her temples?) had stalled, and pain still clanged and scraped inside her head. Anna had taken a powder for her headache two hours ago, but that meagre medicine was voiceless before the bellowing of her pain.

Once again, Wolff's hands felt amazing; Anna could actually feel her pain-tightened muscles start to loosen under the devoted onslaught. But this wasn't quite enough; she needed another distraction, another focal point for this battle, another voice to combat the screeching of her muscles and bones.

Distantly she could hear the hall gong ring four times; it was four o'clock in the afternoon. Could she even make it five more minutes, let alone five more hours, or five more years?

The endless sea whispered to her. It called her secret name. She wanted to answer it.

"Please talk to me, Wolff," she pleaded. "And make it real. Something I can hold on to."

After a brief pause, her therapist opened her mouth and began to speak. Anna listened to her stories and marked the passage of time by the single toll of the clock every fifteen minutes. Every fifteen minutes without laudanum was another victory.

Something was different today. Her nurse was different, but Anna didn't know how she knew this. This sensation was deeper than her bones. It was intuition; something that Anna had not been able to use for years, after having Hans berate her for it a million times or more.

From the very moment that Wolff started to speak, Anna could sense both beauty and chaos in her words; the stories were simultaneously jagged and smooth, like the enamel of a pointed tooth, and just like teeth she bit into these stories, drew them across her downy tongue, and pulled them down her throat.

The stories would give her sustenance. They would bring her pain.

They would open the door to her very future.

Anna felt this, though she could not say why.

For well over an hour Wolff rubbed her back, neck and shoulders, telling her more stories about growing up on the prairie frontier of Canada. She had two brothers, one older and one younger, and a mother and a father. They lived on a farm a short distance away from Calgary. Wolff loved horses, and quiet moments, and studying. She fought with her brothers, and wrangled young horses with them, and gave them presents for Christmas.

As time passed and the stories continued, something became obvious to the Dowager Baroness.

Those perplexing edges were back, in full force. Wolff was hiding things, protecting herself. Anna couldn't blame her therapist for wanting some measure of privacy; Anna had had much occasion lately to prize privacy above all things. Anna found herself grateful that Wolff shared even this much, and hoped that more time spent together would reveal even more truths.

But as Wolff continued, a hideous certainty began to dawn upon Anna. For Wolff spoke of all of them in the past tense, and this tense was not made up of mere distance and circumstances and ruptured time.

So when Wolff's voice finally faltered, for some reason Anna could not yet recognize, she could only whisper her question, there into the basil-scented cloth by her pillow. "What happened to them, Wolff? What happened to your family?"

Anna had told herself yesterday not to pry into Wolff's personal life. Her curiosity regarding her therapist was getting stronger day by day, but at this point she couldn't help herself. She had to know.

Her teeth had to bite into truth; they had to hold onto something deep and real.

Wolff's hands paused in their work on her back. Then she said, "My father and younger brother died long ago, my lady. When I was but a youth. My mom, and my brother and his wife… died twelve years ago."

Anna couldn't bear to hear these words without seeing Wolff's face. She used her hands to push off her side and lay on her back, pulling her shift back into place as she did so. The greatest of her bodily pain had been banished yet again under Wolff's merciful care, though now there was pain in her heart of a very different sort.

Wolff's face was downcast; her whole body seemed weary beyond belief. As Anna used the triangle bar to sit up against her headboard, she seemed to recognize the particular way that Wolff sat, there on the edge of Anna's bed.

Wolff was holding herself so carefully, so still, as if to placate the snarling beast that Anna had provoked with her questions.

Flakes of dried cinnamon fell from Anna's temple and forehead and onto her lap, sprinkling like flecks of rust or dried curds of spilled blood. Anna barely noticed.

All her attention was upon her, this platinum-haired woman before her, who appeared so weak, so forlorn.

Her heart in her teeth, Anna boldly reached out and took Wolff's hand, still all heated with friction and sleek with oil. It was the first time she had dared to grasp Wolff's hand, and she held it so soft, so firm, deliberately pressing her fingertips into Wolff's palm.

Wolff lifted her face. Her eyes were dark and wounded and incredibly lovely.

Her eyes were yet another ocean for Anna to drown in.

"Tell me," Anna said, resurrecting the voice of the Baroness. "Tell me what happened to your family."

A heartbeat. Maybe two. Or five.

"My dad and younger brother both died in a freak riding accident out wrangling the wild horses," Wolff whispered. "I was but fourteen. My mom and my older brother took over the farm. I couldn't stay there. I left when I was seventeen to study nursing in eastern Canada, in Montreal. That's where I learned French." She gave Anna a small and wan smile.

Anna did not smile in return. "Go on."

"I became a nurse there. But even that wasn't enough. Canada couldn't satisfy me. I wanted, needed something more. Mom's family was from Norway. I crossed the ocean and lived with them for a time in a village near Trondheim. I grew up hearing mom speaking Norwegian, but then I really had to use it. But, as I once mentioned to you, a simple fishing life was beyond me.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm really a child of this world at all, Lady Skaldenfoss. I feel the call of the stars, and I just have to go. So I went to India. To meditate, and to study, and to find my true self. I found India, and I found myself. I found my true home. I stayed there for a very long time. I learned many things.

"One day I received a telegram from my mom. She and my brother had sold the farm. My brother had married, and had two children. All of them were in Newfoundland, about to sail across the ocean to Norway. Mom begged me to meet them in Trondheim. She told me it was time for the family to be together again."

A ripple of icy horror began to cascade down Anna's back. That prickling of intuition whispered of the truth.

When Wolff faltered, Anna was strong. This was no longer for her sake alone. She knew this; to her once-broken bones she knew this.

Some memories were poison, and had to be drawn out.

"Miss Wolff. Continue."

Wolff looked slightly shocked, but in this she was obedient. "My lady, I hadn't seen my family in decades. I reluctantly left India and began to cross the continent. I finally made it to Oslo, and was about to take a train to Trondheim, when I got the news."

"What news?"

"A thunderstorm. A shipwreck. Nearly all hands were lost, including every member of my family. All gone, before I had a chance to see them again."

The sentences were short and sharp, like lightning. Anna's heart ruptured on them.

Anna Arendelle looked at the woman who sat on the bed before her, scarcely able to comprehend what Elsa Wolff was saying.

No more ties. No more family. She would be adrift, anchorless, upon the sea for the rest of her life.

For all that Anna despised her life, her paralyzed legs and her agony, she had more than Elsa Wolff. Anna had a home. She had her son, and daughters-in-law, and grandchildren. She was not left abandoned and homeless, she was not without the relationships that anchored and defined her.

Anna's heart burned for this woman whose hand she held.

No wonder the stories had remained hidden, and private.

Wolff was quiet yet, looking down at her lap. Her silence was as thunderous as waves upon a wracked sea.

Anna squeezed Wolff's hand.

And with her other hand she reached over to touch Wolff's cheek, and thereby draw the deep ocean of her gaze. Wolff's skin was soft and smooth. Her eyes were reddened. "My dear girl," Anna whispered, her throat somehow snagging on the smoothness of her words, "I'm so very sorry for your loss."

Anna held her therapist's face for just a moment longer, and then withdrew her hand.

Wolff immediately clutched it again. She now held both of Anna's hands. Such a thing had not happened in years.

Wolff clutched them and held them like it was the only piece of wreckage to be found after a shipwreck upon the endless sea. Wolff held her hands with especial intensity, and there was gratitude etched upon her incredibly lovely face, gratitude for compassion given and received, and Anna's soul seemed to _unfold_ within her, to be the one who could help again, to be the one strong enough to take on a burden; Wolff's reliance upon her in this moment lent steel to her spine and generosity to her heart.

Anna had never quite realized the blessing of service as much as this moment, when she became the comforter instead of the comforted.

Her intuition, so long unused, told her to be quiet. So she stayed quiet, even though she burned bright with questions and curiosity.

Anna was rather startled by the amount of affection she felt for Wolff in this moment. She recognized a strong wish to protect this younger woman, to tuck her into the ruptured home of her heart.

Leif and Heidi were there, safe and sound, forever.

For a few moments longer Wolff's eyes were pained and distant, but then they became focused and clear, and filled with simple gratitude. "I have not spoken of these things in years, my lady. It pleases me greatly to recall them for you, to have a sliver of them live on in your heart as well." She smiled, squeezed, and then released Anna's hands.

Then she sat back slightly and scanned Anna with her healer's eye and asked, "How are you feeling now, my lady?"

It was a soft dismissal, a gentle closing of the book on Wolff's life. Anna didn't mind. At least Wolff had allowed her to peek inside.

Anna closed her eyes as Wolff had taught her to feel inside her body. She scanned cautiously, carefully, but discovered that her pain was only smouldering in discrete patches of her spine and head. She opened her eyes again and said, "I'm feeling much better, thank you. I apologize for bringing you in here on your day off."

"My lady, your health and wellbeing is my highest priority. I'm quite honoured and pleased that you called for me when you needed to. It means that I can trust you not to always be a martyr. Martyrs hold on to their illness and infirmities sometimes, my lady, feeling it defines them, gives them a sense of purpose. Martyrs are hard to heal, my dear. Please don't be one."

"I have no intention of being a martyr, Wolff. My only intention now is to heal."

Wolff's eyes lit up, and she lifted a single eyebrow. "I thought you might have said 'walk', my lady. Do you not desire to walk again?"

"If walking comes as a result of my healing, then I shall walk," Anna said, sharing a thought that had ghosted into her mind but two days ago. Even as she shared the thought, she realized how greatly Wolff had already influenced her, how her unique methods of managing her pain had improved Anna's life. "But I do not need to walk in order to be Anna Arendelle. My being in a wheelchair doesn't make me less of a person. Perhaps I'm still the Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss, whether I'm crippled or not."

An ocean of sweetness entered Wolff's eyes, and the look on her face could only be described as endearing. "I have never admired you more than this very moment, my lady. It usually takes my patients much longer to admit what you just did." She impulsively took Anna's hand again, lifted it to her lips, and kissed her on the knuckles, a kiss that smashed right into Anna' astonished heart.

Her heart beat thick and hard and glorious in her chest as Wolff released her hand. Anna recovered by saying, "Now, I have kept you from your day of rest long enough. Please, Wolff, you may take tomorrow or Tuesday afternoon off in exchange."

"I'll come to check on you tonight, if you please, my lady," Wolff replied. "But yes, perhaps I will take tomorrow or Tuesday afternoon off. We'll see how the day goes."

Wolff then prepared some water and helped Anna wash away the cinnamon, and then she gently washed Anna's face and hands. After everything was made tidy, the window shutters opened again to the clouded August day, the kit stored in the wardrobe, Wolff bobbed her head and left the room.

Anna did not have much time to absorb everything Wolff had said. Not five minutes passed before Johan came to check on her, and she suffered his attention, and soothed his worries, and assured him that everything was all right.

Only later, as evening came, and Anna ate her supper alone on a tray in her room, was she able to think about all she had learned about Elsa Wolff and her family. She turned the stories over and over in her mind, like they were an antique key she was holding and turning over in her hands.

Making it polished, making it smooth, making her wonder if Wolff had ever given up the lock of her heart.


	7. Chapter 7 - Tingle

**Chapter Seven – Tingle**

Anna had a nightmare that night. She recalled very little of the nightmare itself, only that she had been struggling to move, struggling to breathe, her entire body paralyzed instead of just her legs.

Some unseen menace crept on her. She couldn't move. She couldn't shriek!

Only as a blade of glass seemed to connect with her throat, severing windpipe from flesh, did Anna wake up. She woke with her heart beating hard and strong in her chest, her breasts heaving like the prow of a ship heaves upon a storm-drunk sea.

Intolerable blackness encased her like a cocoon made of shadows and granite. Trembling, she shifted in her bed and turned on the lamp.

The emptiness of her bed mocked her.

When Anna closed her eyes she could still see that blade coming out of the darkness, transecting her throat, making her blood squish and spurt. She poured herself a glass of water and willed her heart to calm.

But it was a long time ere sleep came to her again, before she was able to banish the memory of Hans lying among the wreckage of the train. His body lifeless in the snow, that blade of glass in his throat.

His blood. Thick and round drops. Like winter cranberries.

Anna felt thick and discontented when morning came. She was short with Gerda when her maid brought her breakfast. She looked at the food in disgust. Nothing would ever change. She only nibbled at her toast, and disdained the eggs entirely. She barely spoke to Gerda as her hair was plaited into a fresh braid. Her maid took the tray away without saying much, either.

Anna didn't really want her bad mood to extend into her morning rehabilitation session with Wolff, especially with her therapist's assistance the afternoon before, but now she felt caught in the jaws of frustration and anger. They were sharks in the water, and they sensed the blood of her broken dreams.

The moment Wolff entered her room, Anna knew her nurse sensed it. Never in her life had she met anyone with such a gift for sensing emotion; Elsa Wolff was like a divining rod. "Would you like to tell me what's bothering you?" Wolff eventually asked after she had begun her work on Anna's feet and ankles.

"Not particularly."

Wolff merely ingested these words without gagging on the toxin in them, and resumed her work.

They were both quiet, for a time.

When Wolff had reached Anna's knees, she suddenly said, "I want to do a spinal adjustment this morning, if you feel up to it."

Anna could see Wolff working down there on her legs, but she still couldn't feel a damn thing. A peevish reply came first to her lips, but then she was able to catch it between her teeth and swallow it down. It was sour on her tongue.

She finally replied, "You've mentioned this treatment last week. You think it will help align my spine."

"I do indeed, my lady."

"Well, let's do it, then."

Wolff seemed only slightly surprised by the brusqueness of Anna's voice, and quickly outlined the treatment to come. It didn't take long to prepare; soon she was wheeling Anna into her bathing chamber and to the waiting table. She set Anna on the table and then helped her lay down on her front.

Wolff then ran her hands over the top of Anna's shift, lightly rubbing in circles before tracing the outline of Anna's spine, surely prominent now from weight loss and atrophy. "Remember what I just said, my lady. This is going to feel strange. Are you ready?"

"Ready."

Wolff's hands were firm on Anna's shoulders. She could feel the weight of them, like sandbags trying vainly to hold back a tide. At Wolff's instruction, Anna breathed in deeply, and then she breathed out, long and slow.

As Anna exhaled, the pressure on her shoulders increased and increased until suddenly there was a great and awful push, accompanied by a resounding crack. Immediately Wolff spoke soothing words and rubbed her shoulders while Anna tried to get her breath back. "My god," Anna breathed.

"A few more to go, my dear. Are you ready?"

Wolff guided her through several more breaths, more pressure, and more grinding cracks as she worked her way down the spine. "You're doing so very well, my lady," her nurse said as she moved to Anna's hips. Wolff took Anna's right hip in her hands and lifted and pressed. She held the position for long moments, the pressure slowly mounting. Suddenly Anna felt something _shift_ , something deep inside her, and she blew out a breath in surprise.

Wolff did not stop. She reached for Anna's other hip, and did the same adjustment. Already Anna could feel increased sensations down into her pelvis; her nerve endings seemed to sparkle and bubble. "I'm moving to your feet now, my lady," her therapist said. "Keep breathing. Don't stop. Ride the tide."

Anna's ears choked on the strange wording, even as she felt Wolff pull at her feet, one after the other. She didn't feel it at her feet; she felt the gentle, insistent pull from her lower pelvis and torso as her body resisted the pull.

"Last little bit, Lady Skaldenfoss," Wolff said, moving from her feet to her side. "Onto your back. Now. Here we go."

If this were a tide, then Anna was riding it. Caught in the maelstrom of this incredibly bizarre, quick-paced adjustment, she allowed Wolff to place her on her back, and then Wolff stood once again at her feet.

This time Anna could see her, looking down the long plane of her desiccated body. Wolff took her ankles one by one and once again pulled with steady and smooth pressure. Anna could practically feel her hips and pelvis sighing in relief.

She saw Wolff caress her feet; an oddly soothing gesture, before she released them to walk around the table.

"Now for your neck. Remember, you must tell me if anything feels wrong or bad. Tell me immediately. It's important, Lady Skaldenfoss."

"Yes, I will," Anna said, as Wolff took her place at the head of the strange table. Her fingers grasped Anna's head and neck, and those fingers were so long and warm. Anna was suddenly cast into memory, of being secretly drugged with laudanum and tortured by bright sunlight before relief suddenly came in the form of sharp scents and warm hands.

Anna remembered the first time Wolff had ever served her, there during her impromptu interview, and Wolff had held her neck and head much like this.

It had been exactly seven days ago.

Wolff took Anna's neck and softly _pulled_.

And the pull was gossamer, it was gloss, it was toffee made by hand in the candy shop in Exeter when Anna was but twelve years old and visiting her mother's English family. Though forty-five years had passed, Anna discovered that she could put this experience between her teeth and pull, so the strands of the pull came out just like gossamer, just like gloss.

Then.

A sweet click resounded somewhere inside her neck. Anna remembered Wolff's admonition, and somehow breathed of it. She wasn't even sure of what words she used, for she was so entranced by the warmth of those fingers, the lustre of the pull itself; was the sweetness coming from inside her transcendent bones, or was it somehow being transferred from the woman who held her neck so delicately?

Moments later the pull was over, and her neck retreated back to its normal place. But the fingers; for a few minutes longer those uncanny fingers remained, the thumbs tenderly rubbing along the band of Anna's neck, sliding up to her temples and making soothing little circles, all while Wolff murmured words like sleek candy fishes, words that leaped and danced in the air but Anna could not catch them, could not reel them in and make sense of them.

It was enough that sleek candy fish could exist in this bleak, oft-dire world.

In this moment, all Anna felt was a buzzing relief, like a conscious hive had returned to all her nerves, and they commenced to vibrate in unison, in harmony, and in barely restrained joy.

For the first time in months, Anna Arendelle felt _alive._

Wolff asked her something. Anna had to rise above this divine vibration, and heard the question repeated, this time with a slight feather of concern in her nurse's voice.

"I'm all right," Anna breathed. "Just… amazed. Give me a moment, please." She drifted away for a few moments longer, riding the last of this sweet candy tide, Wolff's warm fingers now still, unmoving.

It was the stillness that grounded her. Wolff held her neck and her head in her hands, palms upward, like Anna was a gift she was giving to the world. Like Anna was a dove about to be released into the blissful sky.

When Anna finally opened her eyes, she could yet see this feather of apprehension in Wolff's face. Anna smiled, hoping to banish Wolff's doubt. Wolff then released her hold on Anna's neck, softly, gently, like a sigh.

Sweet silence for a heartbeat or five, such gossamer and gloss.

Finally Anna spoke. "That was… unexpected." She craned her neck to see her therapist better. Wolff immediately moved around the table to Anna's side, absently putting a hand to her back and rubbing.

"How are you feeling, my lady?"

"Like I'm floating above the water." Anna closed her eyes and checked into her body. All she felt was a continuation of this amazing vibration, a symphony of this thick and glorious hive.

For this moment, there was absolutely no pain. What a gift!

Anna opened her eyes again, only to see the soft, concerned blue of Wolff's eyes. Wolff stood by her side, at the edge of this strange and impossible table, with such devotion, such fortitude in her eyes.

Yet she seemed so tired!

"I hope I'm not being impertinent or ungrateful, but why did you wait until today to try this adjustment?" Anna softly asked. "Wolff, I feel remarkable."

Wolff smiled for her. Small. Elegant. Deep.

"I needed your full and complete trust, my lady," Wolff answered. "This type of treatment can go very wrong. I mean this, my lady. Done incorrectly, this adjustment can injure and harm. All our massages, all my work with your legs and knees and ankles has been to this end. Your body had to learn to be soft at my touch, how to relax into my work. Indeed, my lady, I'm surprised I could do it so soon."

"I'm sorry I was peevish this morning."

Wolff's eyes became unexpectedly flinty. "Don't ever apologize to me, Lady Skaldenfoss. Anyone, anyone at all would be peevish and irritable by chronic pain and injury. If there is any space that is sacred to you in this house, where you may be yourself without fear or censure or reprisal, it is this space. Your feelings matter, my lady. Whatever your feelings are. Just be you when you're with me, my lady. Just be you."

Anna stared at her. Had she ever made a fortress of her personal space, or had she allowed her maid, and her son, and everyone else an opportunity to invade?

Had Hans truly respected her boundaries, her own sacred space?

She couldn't think overly long, for Wolff lightly chuckled as she continued, "Indeed, it was your attitude this morning that convinced me it was time to try. You've been in pain long enough, my lady. Now, one adjustment alone won't fix you. But we'll do this every day. Soon we'll get you straightened out enough so that you can sit downstairs for a couple hours without paying for it later in headaches and agony."

"I would like that," Anna quietly said.

"And your slightest wish is my comment, my dearest lady," Wolff said in reply, with all sincerity in her voice. "Speak, and I shall do."

That sincerity was a blade of glass to Anna's throat. It would collapse all the boundaries she had ever known. If Anna was to make a fortress of herself, would she keep Wolff outside those walls, or was her nurse already somehow inside?

Anna reverted to her peerage and training, and retreated to the safest place possible. "Then would you draw me a bath, please?" she asked.

"Yes, my lady."

…

Their second week together continued to pass. The morning rehabilitation sessions became longer. Wolff would start with her ankles and knees, bending and manipulating them over and over again before rubbing the withered strips of muscle. Then she would take Anna into her bathing chamber, adjust her spine, and give her a massage. A bath would ensue. Anna felt so pampered, so valued and cherished.

At least one more time during the day, between luncheon and tea, Wolff would again move her feet and legs, and focus more attention on her knees. Those poor joints had been abandoned so long that the tendons had shortened, and needed much work to limber and lengthen them again.

Often they worked in silence, for Anna was told to focus on the work at hand, to bend her thought to it, to pretend she could feel everything Wolff was doing. Yet there were times in the bathing chamber, during her massage, when Wolff would prompt her to tell her own stories. Some were easy to tell, of her noble birth to an Earl of Norway, her mother a Duchess of England. How she had been raised in Norway before attending boarding school in London. How she had met and married Hans soon after.

By now Elsa Wolff had surely heard from the servants about the fate of Leif and Heidi. So when Anna spoke of all her children, she did not speak of the deaths of one daughter and one son. She spoke only of their lives, their loves, their stories.

It was comforting to have someone to hear her stories, someone who listened attentively, and asked often-keen follow-up questions.

It was deceptive as well. Anna found herself wanting to open up further, to entrust this woman with more of her past, her own sharp-edged stories of loss and betrayal. She was beginning to trust this woman, but not enough, yet, for this.

Evening rehabilitation was often the gentlest, and sometimes the most bizarre. Wolff brought more vases of flowers for Anna to arrange. She read to Anna from books of poetry. She would take several paintings down from the castle walls only to display them in Anna's bedchamber, encouraging Anna to do some sketching as well. Anna found that she was a far better art critic than Wolff; she found herself instructing Wolff in some of the styles and histories of the paintings. Later, when Wolff was gone, she had to smile for Wolff's clever techniques.

In every which way, Wolff was engaging her with life again. She was entrancing her, _seducing_ her with beauty. It was getting increasingly hard to resist.

Like kittens. And baklava. And grandchildren. And flowers.

The final part of the evening rehab was a final massage, in Anna's bed, of her hands, arms, shoulders, neck, and scalp. Half the time Anna fell asleep to Wolff's gentle ministrations.

Only to wake up with nightmares in her half empty bed.

Anna had never been plagued with nightmares before. Even after Leif and Heidi died, Anna had been able to tuck into sleep, like she was being tucked into a precious envelope. The nightmares came almost every night now, and though they varied in shape and texture and content, one aspect was constant: the sensation of being restrained. One night a spider had wrapped her in a cocoon of iron. Another night she was actually tied in chains. Then swords surrounded her. Then a cage. Every night she was trapped, contained, confined.

Often the dreams were accompanied by the inexorable sound of iron grinding on train tracks; that especial vibration, the humming of massive steel vultures, the buzzing of great iron wasps. High-pitched it was, and terrible. She could not escape from the sound, for she was in a cocoon, in chains, in a cage…

All of them to dissipate slowly upon awakening, the residue of the nightmares tainting her mood and souring her spirit.

She would think of those dreams, sometimes, and wonder if they meant anything. Could some message from a higher power be trying to get through? If so, why use such an awful medium?

At Wolff's continued behest, Anna allowed herself the pleasure of being peevish and irritable towards her, and occasionally with Gerda as well. She tried harder to be pleasant with her family. As time passed, she realized something. The more she gave herself permission to be a crotchety curmudgeon, the less often she really felt that way.

So the second week of Wolff's employment passed, Wolff had a day off without incident, and their third week together began. Anna began to go downstairs every day, usually for afternoon tea. Gerda was pleased to help her into a dress and pin up her hair, and Johan or Kristoff, their strong young driver, came to carry her down the stairs. Anna would be wheeled into the library and then lifted onto the couch, where she could rest and converse in relative comfort. Her family was overjoyed to have her join them, though they now tried to temper their reactions and treat it as a matter of course.

Then the grandchildren would be brought down from the nursery, and she would hold the baby for a time, or read a story to Olaf and Claire, all while listening to Johan and Lily bicker about falling revenues from the tenant farmers, and the poor hauls from the fishermen, and how the town council needed to raise an incredible amount of money to repair the orphanage in Larvik.

Helene was often quiet. One afternoon Anna beckoned her over, and had her sit next to her on the couch, and for a while they had a quiet and sweet conversation about her short and tempestuous courtship with Leif. "How did you know?" Anna eventually dared to ask. "How did you know that you loved him so much that you married him on your third meeting?"

Helene's dark eyes were soft and kind. "My father asked me the same question. He did not want to grant his permission at first. But, Anna, surely you remember that little smile that Leif gave, and the way he would turn his eyes on you, and make you believe that you were the only thing in the universe worth noticing.

"But, to be honest, it was deeper than that. Deeper than smiles and gazes. I hesitate to say it, here in our modern world, but I fell in love with your son the first moment I saw him. Dismounting from his horse in the yard of our farm, asking to buy whatever produce could be spared."

"Did your father grant permission for the marriage?" Anna asked, astounded that she had never asked about it before.

"Eventually, yes. Leif said that there was no time to wait for a response from Norway. He told me his father would be furious with him. But that his mother, who was kind and compassionate, would surely understand, and bless our union. We were married that evening by our local priest. Leif spoke fondly of Iskall Slott, and his family. He wanted to bring me to Norway when the war was over. We made such sweet plans, even though we both knew that there was risk. We knew there was a chance we would not see each other again. He returned to the front two days later."

Anna's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you for sharing that with me."

"Ma mere, it is you I must thank once again. For raising such a son. For raising a man I fell instantly in love with. For harbouring me when Leif died and our baby was yet unborn. I haven't forgotten those years, Anna, when you fought your husband on my behalf."

Anna reached out to grasp her hand. "Of course I fought for you. My son loved you. It was enough for me, until I grew to love you myself. For I do love you, my dear, so very much. I'm so happy that you and little Claire are here with us. You bring such light and joy into our home."

Anna distantly realized that the room had grown quiet, and that Johan and Lily were listening to their conversation. She didn't mind.

Helene's eyes had similarly filled with tears, and she also grasped Anna's hand and held it close.

Then Claire noticed and came over, thinking they were playing a game. She clapped her little hands on theirs and laughed. The rest of the room laughed with her.

A little while later, Anna had to leave. Kristoff came to carry her back up the stairs to her bedchamber. As Kristoff gathered her in his arms, she could hear Johan whisper, "I needed to hear that."

Lily took his hand and whispered back, "She's coming back to us, isn't she?"

Anna pondered those words, whether they were intended for her ears or not. They could be true. She could be coming back. Wolff was easing her transition, she was smoothing Anna's rite of passage.

No one could have done it, save her. No one else had the skills, the dedication, the _fire._

As Kristoff deposited her back into her room, where Gerda waited to assist her in donning her 'rehab' clothes, Anna kept thinking about Leif and Helene. How long would Helene stay with them as a young war widow? Would she never fall in love again? She had remained true to Leif's memory for a long time already, but Anna did not wish her whole life to be bereft of romantic love. Surely Leif's widow must have the opportunity to find love again.

Would Helene leave Iskall Slott, and take Claire with her? Would she return to France? Anna didn't dare ask these questions yet, for she was afraid of the answers; the questions festered and vibrated inside her.

Oh, to fall instantly in love. Anna wished she had had that experience in her own lifetime. She wished she had had a love so fulfilling, so pure.

Experiences that would stitch her and a loved one so completely together, that not even death could sever those ties.

Too late now.

Anna was old, now, a grandmother. She was crippled. No knight would come riding to her, to whisk her away into a rosy-pillowed sunset.

For the rest of her natural life, Anna would be alone.

She was pensive and withdrawn for her evening rehab that night. Wolff did not draw her out; her nurse also seemed strangely tired and remote. It was the first time that Wolff's extraordinary talent of perception had failed.

And the first time Anna truly wished that Wolff had been attentive, so that Anna could have voiced even the slightest feather of her worries.

On the next afternoon downstairs for tea, a Friday in mid-September, Lily mentioned that the interim director of the War Widows Fund wanted her advice on several matters. Anna felt a proud pang in her heart; she had actively defied Hans' wishes when she had championed the cause of the fund, and two years into the campaign the society had made her the director. That involvement had also ended the day of the accident.

Johan overheard their conversation and chastised Lily, saying that Anna shouldn't burden herself, that she should focus on getting well.

Old anger scorched her.

After all she had been through, her son didn't think her capable? Was she just a bag of once-broken bones, or was she the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss? Anna nearly spoiled the afternoon tea by arguing with him, but decided at the last moment to swallow her tongue. Lily noticed, of course. She seemed about to fight on Anna's behalf, but at Anna's small shake of the head, Lily also let the matter lie.

Despite all of Wolff's work, all the spinal adjustments and massages, Anna could only bear up to two hours of afternoon tea, and never could she withstand both tea and dinner. That evening, just before dinner, she called Lily to her and requested all the latest correspondence with the War Widows Fund. It was time to get reacquainted with it.

Lily was dressed for dinner, for they had guests visiting, and she looked absolutely lovely. So young, so fresh, like a pearl.

And just like a pearl, she had grit at the core of her. Johan had chosen so very well.

"Of course, Anna," Lily said as Anna completed her request. She paused at the door; her gloved hand on the doorframe, and looked straight at Anna. "It has been so lovely having you join us for tea this week. I know I don't tell you often enough, but I love you, and I miss having you around the house. It does my heart a world of good to see you looking so well."

"We have Wolff to thank for that. And you to thank for finding Miss Wolff. Never change, Lily. I love you just the way you are."

Lily grinned rather saucily at her and came back into the room long enough to kiss Anna's cheek. Then she departed to join the family for dinner. Anna rang for Gerda, ate dinner alone in her room, and then sent for Wolff.

Wolff arrived as Gerda was clearing away Anna's dinner tray, and she saw Wolff glance over what remained. Anna's appetite was slowly improving, though she still only ate about half of what had been sent up for her. Wolff sat on the chair next to her bed and asked, "How are you feeling this evening, my lady?"

"I'm hurting, no doubt about that." Gerda looked at her, and Anna dismissed her, saying, "Thank you and good night, Gerda."

"Sweet dreams, my lady," her faithful maid replied as she took the tray and left the room.

"I can see you are in pain, my lady, but there is a sparkle in your eyes as well," Wolff said when Gerda had left the room.

"I had forgotten the pleasures of a proper family tea, and yet how fraught with peril a tea time conversation can be. Tell me, Wolff, do you think I can handle taking up some of my former duties with the War Widows Fund?"

Wolff's smile was broad and indulgent. "My dear lady, you know yourself best. But of course, I think you can handle it. In fact, I believe it may even help speed you in recovery to regain some portions of your former life."

"What if I overdo things?" Anna asked, voicing a concern that had been incubating in her mind. "You've been so wonderful in helping me manage my pain, and I'm glad we so rarely use the laudanum, but those bad times still come, and they can't always be predicted. God, even like now," Anna said, grimacing as she used her hand to rub the small of her back. One of her muscles felt like a sheet of corrugated metal.

"I'll teach you a trick of meditation, my lady, that may also assist with visualizing and reducing your pain. But that can come later. Let me serve you now."

And Wolff wheeled her into her bedchamber, undressed her, put her on the massage table, and rubbed her with hands hot and slick until Anna fell asleep.

Only to wake in her bed during the witching hour of night, the dire threnody of the rails humming in her head, her breath tumbled and quick, her breath splashing like blood over her pillow. She uttered some small and mewling cry as she forced herself completely awake.

 _God oh god this time it had been Wolff dying in the snow_

 _Wolff with her throat severed, eyes open and life fading_

 _Wolff's arm stretched out to mine_

 _Oh, how I wanted to touch it!_

A light turned on, there beside her, and before she could cry out in alarm or surprise, she noticed that Wolff was sitting in the chair beside her bed. "Hush, my lady," her nurse said, leaning forward to put her hand on Anna's hip. "It's only me. Hush now, my darling."

"Wolff?" Anna asked, stupid and blinking. She couldn't be here. She was dying in January snow. "You're alive?"

Wolff herself blinked, and then squeezed Anna's hip. "Yes, my dear. I'm here. I'm alive. The dream is over."

Anna was astonished at the weight of sadness that was upon her, the dream-grief that filled her with the grainy residue of loss. Perhaps she cared more for this woman than she dared admit to herself.

Anna had to touch her; to be sure that this was real. Perhaps her dream was actually continuing, and some new dire fate would befall her therapist. Some terror coming out of the very stone walls of Iskall Slott.

So Anna reached down, took Wolff's hand from off her knee, and held it instead. She held those fingers she had so desperately wanted to touch in the dream. She stared at Wolff's neck. It was smooth, and long, and lovely. It was whole. Wolff allowed her to press her fingertips in her palm, and then to clasp her fingers tight.

"You died," Anna whispered. "In my dream. How are you here?"

Wolff's eyes melted. "It was but that, my lady. A dream. Forgive me for my intrusion into your bedchamber. I wanted to be here in case you had a nightmare. I apologize if I overstepped my bounds."

Anna shook her head. Her heart was still racing, her breath aching.

"If you wish to forget the dream, and fall asleep again, I can help you," Wolff whispered.

Anna nodded, unable to speak. She still held Wolff's hand.

Wolff leaned forward and instructed, "Start looking at the items in your room, my lady. Start naming them." She pointed at the lamp and prompted, "The lamp."

Anna was thick and anxious, surprised at the depth of grief she felt and despairing. So she did exactly as her therapist bid. Voice low and quivering, Anna started looking around the room, whispering, "Water glasses, water jug, book, hairbrush…"

Then she paused, for the next thing in sight was Elsa Wolff herself. Wolff's eyes were warm, soft, and clouded with exhaustion. She slumped slightly in the chair. She was wearing the same dress. Just how long had Wolff been here, watching out for her while she slept? Surely she hadn't stayed here the entire night?

At the pause, Wolff squeezed her hand and said, "Very good, my dear. Keep going."

Anna moved beyond Wolff's dedicated loveliness and kept naming things in her room, from her dressing table to her wardrobe. By the time she got to the far side of the room, she could feel exhaustion gathering in her eyes, weighing them down like clouds of lead. Her voice got slower and slower and she eventually released Wolff's hand.

Anna wasn't sure exactly when Wolff tucked her back into bed, easing her into her favourite sleeping position on her side, or how the room was suddenly dark again. Before terror at the darkness could overcome her, she felt Wolff's hand slide up her back and then pause at the crook of her neck and shoulder.

And there her hand stayed, holding her, all warm and comforting, there on her neck. "Sleep, my dear one," Wolff whispered into Anna's skin. "Sleep, and fear no darkness. I am here. I am yours."

Before she could marvel at those words, at how they made her feel, Anna fell asleep again.

Wolff looked quite tired when she came into Anna's room the next morning after breakfast, though her eyes lit up when Anna thanked her for her help the night before. To her relief, Wolff asked no more about the dream itself. "Why do you think I'm having all these bad dreams, Wolff?" Anna asked.

"I have no truth, my lady, only a theory."

"I'll hear your theory."

Wolff started working on her feet and ankles. "It may be that a part of healing is the casting off of toxins from within the body. But your body wasn't the only thing injured in the accident. Your mind also experienced great trauma. And now that true healing has begun, your mind is trying to shed itself of toxins. Bad dreams might be an indication that your mind is healing itself. I believe, my lady, that this is but a phase you will pass through on your journey."

Anna looked at her.

And then she opened her mouth. "Where do your ideas come from, Wolff? Where do _you_ come from?"

There was an odd look of distant pain in Wolff's tired eyes as she glanced up at Anna's face. Then she smiled a strange and ghastly smile. "Maybe I come from the future, my lady, where all these treatments are commonplace, and my thoughts and ideas are normal."

Anna barked out a short laugh, trying to hide her disappointment that Wolff wouldn't answer her question with truth.

The session continued, as it had for the past week, with a spinal adjustment and a massage. Then Wolff took her leave, and Gerda returned to assist with dressing and doing her hair for the day. Lily and Helene came with the correspondence of the War Widows Fund and the three of them spent several hours discussing what had been happening in the last eight months.

Precious little, in fact. There was work to do.

Anna charged Helene with finding out the status of several tasks and projects; Helene seemed eager to help them work on the fund.

To Anna's immense surprise, the pain slumbered all day. She took a short nap in the afternoon, had tea with Wolff in her room, and then sent word to her son that she felt well enough to dress up and join the family for dinner. The news that she was coming down for dinner (the first such appearance in more than eight months) seemed to throw her family into collective shock, and herself as well. Anna told herself not to overdo things, for tomorrow was Sunday and Wolff's day off, but she also wanted to ride the tide of her good feelings.

So Anna dressed for dinner and Johan grinned like a child as he watched her being carried down the stairs to sit in her wheelchair. She had a small sherry in the lounge while they waited for dinner to be announced. The company was small and delightful; her immediate family plus Johan's boyhood friend, Erik, with his wife. When Kai signalled that it was time for dinner, Anna took over as hostess as was her right, and invited everyone to go through to the dining room.

The evening passed in a blur of light wine and delicious food and smooth conversation. Anna felt so engaged and alive, avidly listening to talk of the boy's exploits in their youth; going fishing with Erik's father, attending balls in Oslo, and exploring the fjords.

However, as the dinner drew to a close, Anna knew she was reaching her limit. Lily invited her to join the company for a game of cards in the drawing room, but Anna declined. Besides, Wolff and her wondrous hands would be waiting.

Soon Anna was back in her chambers. Gerda helped her dress in her rehab clothing, the loose pants and shift, and had plaited her hair into the oft-short-lived braid. As Anna settled back into her bed, she pulled the bell again, this time to summon Wolff.

Very soon Wolff came into her room, and Anna inwardly noted that her nurse still looked drawn and almost haggard. It had been a long week, and tomorrow was Wolff's day off. Anna made an inner vow not to call for her therapist tomorrow unless it was a case of life or death. Wolff looked like she needed some quiet time and some rest.

They made some polite small talk about the first dinner Anna had attended in months. Wolff asked about the food and the company, and how it had made Anna feel to be part of it all again. Finally Wolff asked, "Are you ready for an evening session, my lady?"

"Must we have a full session tonight?" Anna dared ask, some trepidation in her voice. It had been an eventful day, and yet the pain in her body mostly slumbered. She had no desire to wake it up.

"Perhaps not," Wolff replied. A familiar mischievous smile appeared on her face. "I've something new to share; I've been waiting for the right moment. I think this is perhaps it." She opened her kit and rummaged down to the very bottom before bringing out a small wooden case. She put the case on Anna's lap.

With a wave of her hand, she invited Anna to open the case. Anna opened it and saw a dozen small vials stacked next to each other. "What are these?" she asked, picking one up.

"This is aromatherapy, my lady," Wolff replied. "Each of these vials holds a scented oil. Scents activate distinctive parts of our brain, and can assist in healing and recovery by regenerating different nerve patterns. Please pick a scent that intrigues or moves you most, and I will either draw you a bath or rub your hands and feet."

Anna opened the first vial and smelled the distinctive fragrance of lavender. "Suitable to help in relaxation and sleeping," Wolff murmured. On and on through the case Anna went, and Wolff had a short statement to accompany every scent. Bergamot was excellent in relieving stress and lessening depression, jasmine could heighten libido while reducing tension, eucalyptus was cooling and helped fight migraines, rosemary was a mental stimulant, and so on.

When Anna had gone through the entire case, she returned to the scent that had impacted her most. Woody, floral, slightly seductive; it was a scent she associated with her therapist.

"Sandalwood and rose," Wolff said with a smile on her face. "My personal favourite. Would you like a bath, or a foot and hand rub?"

"A foot and hand rub, please."

Wolff smiled again for her and pulled aside the covers over Anna's feet before sitting down. She took Anna's foot in her strong and capable hands and put several drops of the scented oil on her skin before starting to rub it in.

Then they remained silent, Anna and her nurse, and it was such a generous silence, a healthful and forbearing sort of quiet that was a balm to Anna's over-stimulated mind. As the massage continued, Anna was finally able to quiet her mind, to set aside the dinner and the conversation of the evening and to focus on the present moment.

So she looked down her bed to see Wolff sitting at her feet, rubbing them so carefully, so thoroughly.

And just as Wolff had urged her time and again, Anna sent her awareness down, down from her mind and into her muscles. She scanned the length of her bones, moving down, ever down from her spine to her pelvis and finally into her paralyzed legs.

But it was a little difficult to remain focused on her feet and legs. She was rather entranced by the woman herself, sitting there with such focus, such dedication.

Some of Wolff's platinum-blonde hair had fallen out of its messy bun; it hung in long tendrils by her face, brushing against her neck and collarbones. Her skin was so pale and fair, like she was a child of the icy north, not a child of a vast golden prairie. It made her pinky-rose lips rather lovely and generous on her face. Her blue eyes were like jewelled hummingbirds.

She was easily one of the most beautiful women Anna had ever seen.

Once again, Anna asked herself, _how was this woman here?_

There was another wrench in her heart as Anna remembered the story of Wolff's lost family. How could she bear this life without those ties of blood and kinship? How did it really feel to be adrift and alone in the world?

Why was Wolff not married, with children and grandchildren of her own? Oh, Anna wished she could ask.

Wolff had moved to Anna's other foot when it happened.

Anna felt a tingle in her foot.

"Stop, Wolff!" Anna hissed. Wolff lifted her head in surprise and fear, but then must have noticed the expression on Anna's face.

Wonder. Joy. Surprise. Amazement.

"Right there. Please, press and rub right there again."

Wolff rubbed in the exact same spot again, and a half-smile of confusion and joy overtook Anna's face.

The sensation came again. But then it went, and did not reappear. The elusive tingle was gone.

"What is it, my lady?"

"I could have sworn… Wolff, for a moment I felt a tingle, right where you are working."

A generous grin appeared on her therapist's face. "That's a very good sign, my dear. Our efforts are paying off."

Wolff continued to work, and Anna's senses were so aware now, so watchful and hopeful, but she did not feel that elusive tingle again. She watched Wolff rub her foot, her ankle, and nothing else happened. Had she felt it at all, or only hoping she had felt something? Ah, she was so confused!

Finally Wolff finished, held both her feet for a moment, and then rose from the bed. She tucked Anna's feet back under the covers before she stretched and rubbed her back. "This must get hard on you," Anna remarked, seeing the slim grimace of pain on Wolff's tired face. "Perhaps we should have fewer of these sessions."

"I thank you for your concern, my lady. But don't you fret about me. I have special stretches and exercises I do at the beginning and end of each day to help." She stretched a moment longer before moving closer, sitting down on the edge of Anna's bed, near her waist. She reached for Anna's hand.

Anna gave it to her, but she also said, "Wolff, if you are feeling tired, we can stop now. It's been a long week, and it's your day off tomorrow. It looks like you need it."

A strange expression appeared on Wolff's face, and the shape of it was a secret to her. There were still so many secrets shrouding her nurse and therapist. But the expression, whatever it was, quickly dissolved into one of her ever-ready smiles. "Your concern means much to me, my lady," she said quietly. "Thank you. But please allow me to serve you."

Anna nodded, her eyes now keen and watchful.

Nearly three weeks had passed since Elsa Wolff had entered her service. And in those three weeks, Anna had learned precious little concerning this woman who shared the majority of her hours. Wolff seemed to carry an ocean of silence around her, and, like any ocean, that silence seemed hard to cross.

Anna now knew about the fate of Wolff's family. She knew a little about Wolff's time in India, the student of a Master, living in some monastery in the mountains. She had heard some stories regarding Wolff's childhood and upbringing in the Canadian prairies. But there were still such valleys and chasms to her timeline, secrets and stories that were unknown.

Sometimes Anna had to remind herself that Wolff was just a nurse, just a therapist, like those who had come before. She was under no obligation to share more of herself than she already did.

But Wolff was so interesting! Anna had never met anyone like her. Anna's curiosity was now a raging thing, smouldering strong and fierce day and night.

Was Wolff's reticence part of her personality, or was it part of her treatment strategy? Was this all calculated, and planned, designed to get Anna to respond?

Anna hoped not. Privacy and reticence were easy for her to understand. Deliberate manipulation of her feelings was something else entirely.

With all her heart Anna wished that Wolff would just tell her these stories without being asked, for Anna had no desire to pull rank or force a confidence.

So as Wolff started to rub her palm and her wrist of her right hand, Anna just looked at her. Anna looked at this woman like she was the only thing worth regarding in this entire universe.

Wolff's desire to serve seemed to come from deep inside her, as if it helped define her very personality and soul. Rare had been the servant who served from this particular wellspring of fulfillment, and Anna counted her blessings that Gerda and Kai were among this company.

Indeed, Iskall Slott seemed to somehow attract the servants who genuinely enjoyed service, and how pleased Anna was that she and Hans had tried so hard over the years to reward such service. She knew many of the personal stories of her servants, including the courtship and marriage of Gerda to Kai and their subsequent despair at never bearing children. Kristoff had been their head groom before becoming their driver; the young man had an incredible affinity for livestock and for cars.

Yet Wolff remained a mystery. There was a boundary there, which Anna wished she could cross. Perhaps if she shared her own darker stories, it would thereby invite Wolff to be vulnerable as well. But Anna's deepest secrets were tucked all snug and tenacious in her heart and she simply did not want to share them. Could she really expect Wolff to share what she herself would not?

Wolff continued in her work, massaging her palms, her wrists, sliding up to her elbows. Anna watched her carefully, wishing she could ask for Wolff's confidence. Even if the stories were sharp, with dire edges.

They could make her bleed.

Perhaps they could bleed together.

For Anna remembered how it had felt to be needed, how it had felt to support Wolff in the story of her lost family. She had been there when Wolff needed her, and it had been a small rebirth. A selfish part of her dearly hoped that Wolff would provide this opportunity, and give Anna a chance to support her again.

But it would not be this night. Wolff finished her work, and quietly bid her lady good night. Anna watched her go.

As she curled into her bed, her thoughts revolved upon the warmth of Wolff's hands, the scent of sandalwood and rose, and the unexpected and miraculous tingle she had felt in her feet.

...

Author's Note: Thanks for hanging in here while the slow burn continues. I promise, the next chapter has a moment you've all been waiting for. See you in about a week. -Jen


	8. Chapter 8 - Surrender

**Chapter Eight – Surrender**

Before Wolff came to her, time had been clay. It smothered her, coated her with weight and depth. It crept up Anna's unfeeling bones and laid its dread fingers about her heart. This clay had been intolerable, for it cast its film over her eyes and her mind as well, casting a shadow over her future so vast she couldn't bear it. Small wonder she had lost herself in the grip of this clay beast, and wished to slip away from it by any means possible.

But then Wolff came with her cheerfulness, her talented hands, her uncanny ideas and knowledge. Wolff came with flowers and candy, and kittens and family, and she held Anna's body like a great and precious thing, to be valued, to be cherished, to be loved.

And under her influence time became sand, slipping through Anna's fingers, for all it was still matted and wet with tears and pain like the tidal sands found on the beach below Iskall Slott.

For September had waxed, and was waning now. It was Sunday, and Wolff's day off. The spare nurse waited for any summons in the servant's hall, where Anna hoped she would remain all day. She hadn't even wanted a spare nurse today, but she understood that Wolff needed a full day off.

Anna woke in very little pain to a morning that was sunny and decadent. Anna decided to join her family on a little outing to the gardens outside Iskall Slott. Gerda helped her dress, and then Anna went outdoors into her beloved gardens with her son and daughters-in-law. Johan wheeled her along the narrow paths, the treads occasionally stuttering in the gravel. At one point the company stopped to look over the estate. Low clouds bumbled along the horizon, and a light breeze came off the sea, lifting strands of Anna's red hair under her hat. She remained in her wheelchair while the others sat on benches and spoke of small, beautiful things.

Anna barely heard them. She was entranced by the gently rolling hills of the estate she had called her home since marrying Hans nearly thirty years ago. She saw the dusty ageing blooms of her flowers, the brilliant colours of asters and chrysanthemums as yet not yielding to the subtle pressure of the changing season. She felt the sun on her shoulders; a matronly sun, warm and lenient.

It seemed that her family was starting to get used to her silence. Before the accident Anna had been much like the rest of them, talking for the sake of interaction, keeping to the rhythm of conversation, the intellectual discourse of ideas.

But she had changed in the months since the accident, and since Wolff's arrival. Silence was no longer a burden, a gap to be filled. She still enjoyed a spirited discourse, to be sure, but she had also learned the value of introspection, of carefully cultivating thoughts and ideas, much like these flowers, before cutting them and releasing them into the world.

So they spoke to each other, and rarely addressed her, for perhaps they could see that she was quite busy conversing with the beautiful day before her. Her conversation was with the breeze on her skin, and the sun on her shoulders, and the eternal spirited roar of waves on the beach below Iskall Slott.

Anna saw movement from the corner of her eye, and turned her head towards the house. It took a moment before she recognized Elsa Wolff. Her therapist was dressed in a shirt and trousers, like a man, her shirt sleeves partially rolled up. She wore tall boots on her feet, and carried a bag of some sort in her hands. She had pulled her white hair up into a tight and sleek bun on her head, so different from the soft and somewhat messy style she used in service. She walked in a long, loping stride towards the stables.

Anna stared at her. Seeing Wolff dressed like this, watching her walk so confidently towards the stables, scraped at something deep inside her. Her heart did something strange as she continued to watch Wolff walk with that long-legged stride. It was as if her heart had plummeted deep into her pelvis, only to rise again coated in fascination and wonder.

What was it that caused Wolff to pause? For pause she did, and turned slightly, to behold Anna looking at her.

The distance was too great to see the expression of her eyes, but Anna saw Wolff smile. Anna lifted up her hand in greeting, not shying away from the fact that Wolff had caught her staring. Wolff's smile grew broader, and she waved in return before turning back to her course.

The brightness of Wolff's smile was like another sun, caught between Anna's hands, and she carefully tucked the memory of it into her heart. She was also immensely pleased that Wolff was availing herself of their horses, and participating in something from her childhood that she had once so dearly enjoyed.

There wouldn't be many more days as perfect as this one. This far north, summer tilted into autumn quickly, and often with irresistible force. And then winter itself stretched forth a frozen, skeletal hand, to draw a curtain of darkness over the world.

Anna felt she could handle the eternal dark of winter this year as long as Wolff was with her.

She suddenly frowned. She shouldn't think of her this fondly. Wolff was just a nurse, just a therapist. One day she would leave. It was inevitable.

Just then, Lily demanded her opinion on the state of the orphanage in Larvik, and Anna's attention was forcibly redirected.

…

Elsa was immensely pleased to see her lady outdoors with her family. While she had been downstairs making up a packet of food for her lunch, she heard that Gerda had been called up to dress her lady for an outing with the family. The servants in the hall downstairs had tried not to stare at Elsa in her riding attire; she finally felt well enough to take the ride to Verdens Ende, and would not do it in skirts. Elsa didn't care what they thought of her.

As she had walked away from the house, Elsa thought of the tingle in her foot Anna had felt the night before. Warmth flooded her heart as she thought of all her hard work and how it was all starting to pay off. Lady Skaldenfoss had not proved to be as intractable as Elsa had first feared when they had started working together; Anna's true nature was starting to shine through the grime and filth of her chronic illness. The more they worked together, the more Elsa sensed that Anna was coming back to herself.

No, not exactly back to herself. Her lady was taking the broken pieces of the Baroness who had existed before the accident, and was using them to create someone new. And that was even better. There was no way to go back to the way things were, not after such tragedy and heartbreak.

The accident on the train tracks. Elsa had heard bits and pieces from Gerda, and from others. No wonder her lady had nightmares about it.

Elsa exited the house, thinking of the nightmare she had been able to interrupt. It was obvious that Anna had somehow dreamed of Elsa that night, and of Elsa's demise. Anna's resultant shock and distress had impacted Elsa more than she let on that night.

Considering the book and postcard that was hidden in her pack, Elsa found this dream-death to be strangely prophetic. She had been so fixated on preventing any sort of disaster from befalling her lady that Elsa scarcely thought of herself. Surely the universe would protect her as long as necessary for her to heal her lady?

Her thoughts on Lady Skaldenfoss, Elsa suddenly felt a prickling of her neck, and turned without thinking.

Only to behold her dear lady some distance away, sitting in her wheelchair in the gardens, looking at her. Elsa could feel the depth and surprise of that gaze; surely Lady Skaldenfoss had never seen Elsa dressed like this before.

Elsa was hard-pressed not to stare back.

 _(how is it possible that I am here, serving her?_

 _this is the woman from the postcard!)_

Lady Skaldenfoss looked absolutely stunning this morning. The sight of her made Elsa's heart wrench in admiration.

Lady Skaldenfoss was wearing a blue skirt with a white blouse and a matching blue coat with white embroidery. She wore a broad-rimmed hat on her head, her red hair pinned up underneath it. Somehow Gerda had managed to accentuate that white streak of her hair, making it bold, making it fashionable. There were gloves on her hands, and heels on her feet. She looked every inch a Baroness, and she sat in her wheelchair as if a throne. Elsa smiled just to look at her, and enjoy the beautiful sight of her.

Elsa had always loved beauty, in any of its forms.

Like the beauty of a sundog, the strange apparition of triple suns that appeared on especially crisp and cold Canadian days. She had loved how those obedient balls of light had hung in the sky like well-trained hounds following the sun.

Or beauty like a prairie thunderstorm in the summer, where the sun shone gold and bright on the crops of wheat or corn, yet the thunderstorm reared black and menacing on the horizon, punctuated by stark forks of white light. The thunder hadn't merely rolled, it had heaved upon prairie-grass like a storm-drunk ocean.

 _(the lightning on the sea_

 _it had been ORANGE!)_

Or beauty like the curve of a woman's breast, there under Elsa's hand. The sight of a pink mouth, turned into a smile, all along the backdrop of far mountains, of primroses peeking through the snow.

Elsa was wrenched from her thoughts, for her lady lifted her hand and waved to her. Acknowledged her.

It was a simple thing, this lifting of a hand in greeting, but Elsa felt it quite keenly. She automatically lifted her own hand and waved in return, her smile suddenly wider, for this small kindness was like a balloon in her heart, lifting her up.

And then Elsa continued on her way, for the day was glorious and had somehow become even more glorious than just minutes before. She was wearing pants, oh wondrous and beautiful pants, and she was going to go riding to Verdens Ende. Back to the End of the World, which had been her new beginning.

And today she would be brave. She would force herself to remember it all. She had been hiding long enough.

Her Master would have words for her, had he known the coward she had become.

Soon Elsa was on horseback, though there was no western saddle to be found, so she had to ride hunter's style on an English saddle. A simple saddlebag held her few trappings; the lunch she had packed, some emergency rain gear, a flask of water, and the package with the book and postcard.

Elsa had chosen the most sedate horse in the stable, but the mare was still spirited, and frisked about a bit as they began the ride. Elsa hadn't had the opportunity to ride much in the last few years, but the training of her youth came back to her, and she settled the horse with her soft hands and firm knees.

The peninsula she sought was just over fifteen kilometres away. Elsa rode attentively, enjoying the mare and the beautiful day. The countryside was beautiful, so empty and verdant! Elsa had seen this particular stretch of Norwegian coast several times in her life; her first view of this area had been the strangest. If she remembered correctly, pieces of plastic trash had been caught along the fences, and the villages had been wider, more densely populated. Billboards had been along the road, sometimes in both Norwegian and English (for the tourists). Advertising had been everywhere. That was one thing that Elsa did not miss, not at all.

She still missed her aunt's dill pickles. And playing games together as a family on Sunday nights. She missed eating popcorn on a blanket with her brothers while watching Disney movies together, like 'The Muppets', and 'Pollyanna'.

Only as she drew closer to the peninsula did Elsa Wolff go slower, her mood growing darker and more contemplative.

Finally she was at the crossroads, and she turned the horse down the peninsula itself. Another two kilometres of easy riding brought her to the tip of the world, to Verdens Ende.

Elsa had been riding for just over two hours. When she dismounted, her legs were wobbling and her back was a sheet of corrugated tin and agony. She rubbed her kidney as she walked along, the horse obediently following behind her. At one point she could go no further; the peninsula ended in a jumble of eroded rock.

 _This was the end of everything_ , she thought to herself.

 _And the beginning of everything else._

There was a stunted tree nearby, and several clumps of juicy-looking greenery. Elsa hobbled a little as she tied the horse to the tree and took down the saddlebag. There was a large boulder nearby; she sat gingerly down on it, knowing that her backside would probably ache for days after this ride. "No funny business," she warned the horse, glancing back over her shoulder.

The mare seemed to roll her eyes at Elsa before bending down to take a generous mouthful of grass and clover.

Elsa took a sip of water first. She felt every minute of her fifty-two years in this moment. Just how had she become so _old?_

She delayed the inevitable by eating one of the sandwiches she had prepared. Sipped more water. Looked out at the waves, so peaceable right now, so unlike that night. The night the lightning had been orange.

It had been orange.

It had struck the ship.

Elsa could ignore it no longer. She took out a cloth-wrapped package that was her most prized possession. Even now, after so many years, she couldn't believe how wonderfully intact it was. What had her younger self been thinking? What intuition had the Elsa of twelve years ago really had?

It had been new back then, and she had wanted to read it, so Elsa had double-wrapped it in plastic before taking it on board.

She had been paranoid, and nervous about the cruise, so she had kept her other valuables double-wrapped in plastic as well. And her younger brother had nervously teased her for it.

Had it been paranoia, or intuition?

Elsa, and the book, and her valuables, had survived the thunderstorm, and the shipwreck.

No one else had.

Elsa allowed herself a moment of mourning. Her entire family was gone, now. Her father and younger brother had died in a car accident when she was only a teenager, an accident that had landed Elsa in the hospital for a month.

Her mom and older brother then took over the farm, quite admirably. Elsa hadn't stayed long with them after recovering from the accident; she had curious feet that took her to Montreal first to study nursing, and then to Europe to find love, and then to India to quiet her spirit and deepen her medical skills.

Elsa had been away from home for eight years, and hadn't visited Canada at all, when her mom finally contacted her. "Time for the family to be together again," Idunn had said. "I'm putting my foot down, Elsa. We haven't seen you in nearly a decade. I sold the farm for a pretty penny, if I say so myself. I have the money to retire in Norway comfortably for the rest of my life. But we are going to see each other first. We are going to spend time together, like families should. If you want to be a hermit again in India after that, then so be it. I'll even support you."

So Elsa had travelled to Oslo, to meet her mother and her brother and his wife. They had five days together before the cruise ship was supposed to leave Oslo on a meandering track down to Greece. When the cruise ended in Greece, Elsa was positive that Idunn would try to persuade Elsa to live with her in Trondheim. Her brother, Ivan, and his wife Julie had left their kids with Julie's parents in Canada. They might even try to persuade her to return to her native homeland. Elsa would be pulled in several different directions; did she even know what she herself wanted?

Yes, Elsa knew.

As cheesy as it sounded, Elsa only wanted _love._

Elsa had no idea what lay beyond this reunion with family. She was forty years old, unmarried, a lesbian who just couldn't seem to attract a long-term partner. She wanted so much more!

Her Master in India had cautioned her that the universe might just give her something. Not what she wanted; that's not how the universe worked.

No, the universe would give her what she _needed._

So Elsa flew away from India, not knowing if she would really return. She took only her most cherished valuables with her; mementoes from her travels, her favourite clothes and books. One backpack. One suitcase. No more.

Elsa had been nervous about seeing her family in person again. Eight years was a long time, and Skype or Facebook just couldn't be the same as reality. But as she saw her mom and her brother, Elsa felt something _click_ inside her, some recognition of kinship that transcended both space and time.

Family had that potential, if she could but _surrender_ to it.

The reunion had been wonderful. But by day four, Elsa knew she needed some time away from them. She needed some space. Their company had become cloying after all the time she had spent in solitude in the monastery in India. They had pestered her with questions about her travels and experiences, especially questions about how she had recovered from her disastrous accident in the snow covered gorge three years prior.

Elsa had told them as much as she had dared, and kept the rest to herself. Some things were too sacred to be shared, even among family.

Pain was sacred.

Especially the painful recovery of a broken back.

Elsa needed to escape them and their curiosity, even just for a day. She had looked on a map and saw a town named Larvik, just over one hour by train to the south of Oslo. Good enough, she had thought. She bought a train ticket and went.

The town had enchanted her. From the moment she exited the train station, Elsa had found it strangely familiar. As if she had somehow known it, from a dream, or from a story.

The Elsa of 1924 chuckled as she thought of this. It all made sense now. It was all clear. She took one more sip of water as she stroked the cover of the book on her lap. The book she had bought in a souvenir shop in Larvik in August of 2020.

The guidebook to county Vestfold was now extremely well-worn, dog-eared about the edges and yellowing slightly with age. The spine was broken in one particular place; Elsa opened it and took out the postcard, remembering acutely the very moment she had purchased it just over twelve years ago.

An old-fashioned bell had tingled as she had entered the shop soon after alighting from the train. Elsa browsed the whole shop, looking at local textiles and handicrafts before perusing the rack with postcards. Elsa immediately noticed a sepia-toned picture of the royal couple that had owned the castle above the village, called Iskall Slott. Elsa hadn't cared so much for the looks of the man; he had strange sideburns and a wooden smile. But the lady in the postcard, named Anna Arendelle, Lady of Skaldenfoss, had enraptured Elsa from the moment she had seen it with the other postcards upon the rack.

Elsa hadn't stopped to consider why the postcard had affected her so. Even then she was accustomed to trusting her whims, as strange as they often were. Her time in meditation and study in India had taught her that much, at least.

Elsa had purchased the guidebook, and the postcard, and a magnet of the Iskall Slott-that-was. Then she had toured the entire village of Larvik, from the large empty plot of land that had once housed the orphanage, to the old-fashioned train station, often referring to her guidebook to learn about the history of the region. She had wanted to see what remained of Iskall Slott itself, but the castle was extremely dilapidated; only a single wing of it was intact. That one intact wing was usually open for tours, but it had been a Monday, and the castle had been closed.

Still, Elsa had been grateful to escape her family, even for just a day. She was going to be stuck with them for several weeks on the cruise ship; she had needed a day to herself. The cruise ship was going to depart tomorrow, at noon. August 31, 2020.

 _If you're going to think of this, you're going to think of it all_ , Elsa now told herself. She could hear the mare munching on grass behind her. She remembered the flash of Lady Skaldenfoss' smile at her this very morning. She herself had touched her lady's skin, a thousand times or more, in the last three weeks of her service.

The lady in the postcard. The lady in the book. She was alive. Elsa knew her, Elsa served her.

Elsa had touched her skin.

It was incredible. Impossible.

Unbearable, really.

At one point in her wandering in Larvik that August day in 2020, Elsa had stopped to have a bite of lunch at a local pub. As she ate a plate of sandwiches and chased it with some local beer, she found a section in the book about the couple in the postcard. She had read the headline first before skimming the paragraphs to follow: _Castle Iskall Slott and the Fall of Barony Skaldenfoss_

 _Hans Arendelle, Baron of Skaldenfoss, died in a train accident on January 4, 1924. His wife, Lady Skaldenfoss, had suffered devastating injuries in the same wreck; a broken back, broken legs, and a broken skull. Injuries so severe that it proved she could not survive them._

 _Anna Arendelle, Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss, passed away of sudden infection nine months after the accident that had taken the life of her husband. She died on September 30, 1924._

 _Their son, Johan Arendelle, inherited the title and the lands, yet all was not well…_

September 30 was this coming Saturday. Elsa felt nervous even today, being this far away from her lady. What if the guidebook was wrong?

What if Lady Skaldenfoss had injured herself, and was dying even this moment, even now?

Elsa shook her head.

She had to draw the line somewhere. Her very sanity depended on it. This work was exhausting her, depleting her in ways she could not physically be depleted.

Another _Verdens Ende_ approached her, and there was nothing Elsa could do about it.

Well, she could _surrender_ to her present circumstances. She could finally admit to herself that she had struck through time on the prongs of vicious lightning. She could truly settle into her present reality, and stop wishing for things to be different. She could really save Anna Arendelle's life and stop being so goddamn cautious. Elsa was withholding so much of herself; her life, her energy, her stories.

For she had come to care for Anna, quite deeply. This lady in the postcard was so incredibly brave, so fearless in the face of physical pain.

Considering everything Elsa had experienced in the past twelve years, with the Great War and saving the life of Leif Arendelle, Anna's beloved son, Elsa now believed she knew why things had turned out the way they had. Why the universe believed she _needed_ to be on that ship, in that particular storm.

This was all part of her destiny.

The baby that had been born to Idunn and Agdar in Calgary, Alberta on November 26, 1986, had been destined to travel back in time on the prongs of fateful orange lightning, to save the lives of an entire family.

It had to be true.

It had to be.

Once upon a time, Elsa had believed it had all been just for Leif, and for how she had saved his life and sent him back to his family in Norway. The young man would rejoin his French wife, and somehow raise his daughter. His fate had been quite different in the guidebook; Elsa thought her destiny fulfilled the moment the trucks took him away and saved him from dying in a hospital tent in France as had been written.

Elsa also believed it had all been for Catriona.

Catriona was gone now, and she had been the love of Elsa's life.

Now, Elsa believed otherwise.

Once Catriona had died, Elsa had known. She looked at the woman in the postcard and knew that she could save Lady Skaldenfoss's life. It had been difficult to serve young Lord Galthe first, knowing that Anna Arendelle was ailing and in agony. But her Master had advised her to serve this young man, to ease his passage from one life to the next.

Elsa had been so nervous the day of her interview! What if they hadn't chosen her?

She took a deep breath. It all worked out, in the end. She had come in time. Elsa had the chance, the skills, and the power to save Anna Arendelle's life. She could change the fate written in the guidebook.

And she would.

Yes, she would.

Even though Elsa herself would never know love again. Even though she now had a tiny attic room in Iskall Slott _(oh, the castle had been such a ruin!)_ , where she suffered through her own nightmares. No one was there any longer to comfort her. No one who would hold her in the middle of the night, and soothe her worries.

Elsa forced herself to close the guidebook and look out onto the sea.

The circle of this strange life was closing.

But even now, returning to this place where she had once washed ashore, Elsa couldn't bear to remember much about the night of the storm itself. She could not drag herself through that morass. It was enough that it had happened. The Elsa Wolff who had grown up in the 1990s would never have believed in time travel.

The Elsa of 1924 believed all too well.

For the lightning had somehow been _orange._

A ball of it had enveloped the ship. The roar… had been deafening. Though that could have been compounded by the sound of the entire cruise ship cracking and splintering and breaking apart.

Elsa had been wearing her pack and a life vest. She had held Idunn's hand as long as she could.

But then the waves were frothy and wild. The darkness complete. Her family… gone.

And when she had washed up on these very boulders in front of her, Elsa had had no idea that she had travelled back in time. She only knew that she was alone; there were no other survivors. No debris, either. No cell phone signal (her phone had also been wrapped in plastic, and survived the wreck). She had only the clothes on her body, and the few supplies she had preserved so well in her pack.

Elsa shook her head. Best not to think of those first few weeks, stranded over a hundred years in the past, incredulous and disbelieving. Best not to think of how long it took her to truly believe that it had actually happened. Best not to remember how close she came to being cast in an insane asylum. Elsa had adapted quickly to her new environment, but nearly not quickly enough.

It was better to think of the life she had made here and now. To consider the person she had become. She had leveraged the history and stories she had learned in school with those written in the guidebook in choosing where and how to live. She had used all her knowledge of her profession of the future for her patients in the present.

And Elsa had hidden her knowledge of upcoming world events, and of the future.

The downfall of family Arendelle weighed heavily on her. As each week passed Elsa wished she could just somehow prevent them from losing everything in the upcoming financial crash of 1929. But their fortune was tied to Johan's American wife, Lily, whose own vast holdings were part of the stock exchange in the United States. When Black Friday came, they would lose everything. Their estate would be sold at auction, their belongings scattered to the winds, the family would be forced to disperse, and even their title would become hollow.

All of it was in the guidebook, and Elsa believed it could be true.

Wasn't it enough just to save Lady Skaldenfoss's life? Was the fate of the Barony also on Elsa's shoulders? She was a child of the 90s, and had grown up with the concepts of time travel; what would happen should she change too much?

First she had to save her lady. This week was vital. Elsa had to be vigilant. Something might happen, an injury, an accident; anything that could lead to infection. The fate of Anna Arendelle was still unknown, and Elsa would be damned before she would allow her lady to die. Not while she herself drew breath.

Elsa nodded to think of it, and then looked out onto the ocean once more. She was glad she was able to come back here, one last time. It had taken twelve years for her to truly accept what had happened to her.

Now she was here, sitting on a boulder, working as a therapist to a noble lady. Elsa was no messiah, no harbinger of fates. She was not responsible for the Arendelle family.

It was enough that she was here, that she was serving this lady. Deep in her heart, in the cavities of her bones, she could feel the rightness of it. She had saved Leif Arendelle, for a time. She would save Anna.

But no one would save her.

Feeling somewhat wounded by that last thought, Elsa got up, stretched carefully in the exercises her Master had shown her, and then walked back to her mare. She stroked the lovely head of the horse before stowing everything back in the saddlebag. She mounted the horse, putting her back to Verdens Ende and her face to the future, as uncertain and unknown as it would always be.

…

As had become her custom, Wolff came to check in on Anna that Sunday evening. Anna gladly granted access to her chamber, wanting to see her therapist again, and Wolff stood by the edge of her bed. The Dowager Baroness tried to reconcile this Wolff with the one she had seen this morning wearing the riding trousers and the bright expression. This Wolff seemed completely different, as if she had seen and experienced hardship or horror this day.

Had the ride wearied her? Or had something untoward happened to her, while she was out on the vold? For her therapist seemed weary indeed, exhausted and spent beyond all reason. That clay of time coated her feet, and cast a film upon her features. Her face was paler than usual, and drawn. Had she been ambushed by memories of her lost family today? Anna well knew how the ghosts of the past could suddenly rise up, as if from the very ground, to mob the senses and disrupt all reason.

Again, Anna desperately wished she could just ask these questions, and be allowed into Wolff's confidence. But the opportunity did not come. Wolff asked her prescribed sentences, mainly about how Anna felt, and Anna gave her prescribed answers, that she felt well enough, and hadn't needed the services of the spare nurse this day. Wolff gave her a small, tight little smile and then left her to her evening.

As Anna fell asleep that night, she told herself that what Elsa Wolff gave her was enough. She had no right to ask for more. The thought made her sad, and she passed into a troubled sleep.

Their fourth week together began. Wolff once again altered Anna's rehabilitation schedule. She had found a long, thin mat somewhere and would place it, and Anna, on the floor. Then she would help Anna reach a certain position, an often strange position, and urge her to just breathe, to sink her awareness into her muscles. She called this practice 'yoga', and said that it also came from India. Every movement they made together, Anna was to imagine her nerves firing, her muscles reacting, her legs well and whole. And she obeyed; she imagined she could feel Wolff's soft hands as they moved and manipulated her feet, ankles and knees.

And, miraculously, from imagination came reality. More and more often Anna would feel an elusive tingle in her feet, on her knees. When Dr. Lund came for his regular visit on Thursday afternoon, Anna told him about these tingles she felt. He told them to be cautious and not overly optimistic.

His guarded attitude and pessimism were not welcome. To use Wolff's phrase, Anna felt like she was riding the tide, whatever that truly meant, and she was upset that he wasn't going to ride it with her. A deeper part of her understood that he was trying to protect her from disappointment.

Wolff understood her. Wolff knew how much Anna needed this hope, thin as a thread though it may be. It spanned the chasm between past and future. It stripped the heavy clay of time from her feet. It made her hope in a better tomorrow.

Yet pain still came in all its myriad forms; as molten lead streaking through the nerves of her shoulders as back, as grinding boulders avalanching across her skull, as weight and indigo in her slowly strengthening muscles. Wolff suggested that they reduce the amount of rehabilitation, but Anna didn't want to stop now. She didn't want to halt this momentum. She couldn't return to the wretched life she had been living before, even if this was the price to pay.

So Wolff spent hours and hours with her hands massaging Anna's back, shoulders, legs, and skull. Anna still wept many tears, and muffled her jagged cries. She still cursed all the vagaries of fate that had so intercepted her at that one point in time.

The train. The cow on the tracks. Derailment, and frozen snow. That blade of glass in Hans' throat.

And nearly four weeks after Wolff came to her, Anna had her worst day yet.

September 30. It was a grey Saturday, greasy with clouds and occasional spatters of rain. Anna had slept poorly the night before, waking several times from nightmares and from a low-grade fever she had had for the last three days. Tiredness made her sharp and irritable; it felt like subtle grit had accumulated in her eyes and within her muscles. Sharp edges of glass were grinding in her joints. Her fever was a constant low heat on her cheeks and forehead; she had lost her appetite several days ago and Wolff had practically force-fed her soup and tea to keep her hydrated.

Anna's initial excitement at her regenerating nerves had waned with the reality that she now faced; she now felt tingling and prickling in her feet at random moments, with occasional sharp jolts that raced up her legs. It was erratic, unpredictable, and this volatility was about to drive her mad.

They were nearly through their morning rehabilitation when Wolff stopped. Anna had been panting and grimacing. "Please, my lady, you don't have to overwork yourself," Wolff said as she lifted Anna back into her bed. "There is time for this, because there is time for all good things."

Sudden tears welled up in Anna's eyes. Her head was already raging with pain, her fever was making her dizzy, and she just felt so tired and frustrated. She missed Hans. She missed being able to walk. She missed the life she had had. Everything about her current situation was intolerable; oh, she should have never allowed this woman to treat her, to seduce her with a life that could never get any better!

Grief and anger made a fist of her heart, and she abruptly dismissed Wolff, saying that she needed some time to herself.

Wolff looked upset as well. She gathered her things and then paused at the doorway. When she looked back at Anna, the concern on her face was impossibly deep, and damnably lovely. "Please call for me," her nurse softly urged. "I don't want to leave you. If you need me, if you need anything at all, will you call?"

Anna nodded, for she could not speak, not over the agony that bricked up her throat. She waved Wolff away.

Wolff's reluctance to leave was palpable, yet she obeyed the command and left.

And when Wolff was gone, Anna descended into darkness. The mire of despair she had been skirting ever since Wolff's arrival; Anna allowed herself to step inside it, to wallow in it. Wolff had been distracting her long enough, tricking her away from her pain, but Anna knew the time had come to face it. She would not heal without acknowledging this darkness in her mind, the darkness that kept manifesting as nightmares. She would find truth there, in the filth, the dark, the chaos. She just had to have the courage to enter this dark cave of memory, for her truth was there as well.

So Anna turned her face into her pillow and wept, her eyes screwed shut, and her mind latched on to the fact that was both surprising and completely understandable. She didn't miss Hans nearly as much as she should. Why didn't she miss him more? Why didn't his absence make a barren landscape of her life and soul?

She had been his wife for more than thirty years. She should miss him more. She should mourn the edge of his demise. She should regret the future that they wouldn't share together. All the dreams of the future they had made together; they were corpses in her mind, polluting her thoughts with rot.

He should be here, right now, so she could be angry with him. He should be here, right here and right now, so she could dismiss him, and leave him.

He should have loved her enough. He shouldn't have needed another woman's mouth, another woman's arms.

Now that he was gone, Anna couldn't ask him why he had done it. Or if he had slept with more women than just Baroness Falk. Just how unfaithful had he been? Anna wanted to believe it had been just that once, but… all those long weeks in Oslo at the parliament, the gifts she had received upon his return… yes, she wondered.

When the truth first came out, Anna had to focus all her attention on keeping the marriage intact. It took a year before she trusted him again, and welcomed him back into her bed. Now, a fresh sinuous creature of anger had grown inside her, and she wished she had never invited him back into her bed or slept with him again. She was glad she had forgiven him; she would not want that weight upon her soul. But she wished she had made a fortress of her bed, and of her body.

In the last month, as Anna had begun to rebuild her bones, and reshape her body, she found an answering growth of her soul as well.

 _I am worth more!_

Hans hadn't deserved her. Anna deserved more than he had ever given her.

But Anna would not get more. Not anymore. Her chances were all gone.

Why couldn't he have loved her the way she deserved to be loved?

She just wanted to be loved.

And now, half paralyzed and weak and old, Anna doubted that she would ever love, or be loved, again. Not in this lifetime.

With that final, terrible, _smothering_ thought, Anna lost her senses. She wept and cried until she passed into a restless, troubled sleep.

And woke several hours later to agony the likes of which she had rarely known.

Anna had thought herself well acquainted with pain. She had had nine months of it now, enough to experience every aspect of it, to feel every possible incarnation. She had passed through the gullet of the monster many times before, with her surgical scars and infected bedsores and shattered bones held up in traction.

She had forgotten. Wolff had helped her forget.

 _(Oh, god, Wolff_

 _please help me!)_

From the moment Anna woke from her nap, she knew she had passed directly from one dire nightmare to another. She shivered with cold while burning with fever. Her entire body was one long bolt of orange lightning, shivering, crackling, destroying her second by second. She kept her eyes screwed shut, for if she opened them the light would lobotomize her. She gathered the sheets in her fists and tried to breathe, just to breathe as Wolff had been teaching her. If she could but breathe, she would eventually find the strength to reach for her bell pull and summon her nurse.

So breathe, Anna. Breathe.

 _(you are alone_

 _you will always be alone!)_

The feather light pressure of cloth on her skin was too much to bear. The effort to simply breathe was immense. Anna was scarcely aware of the wetness of her cheek, as tears continued to spill, unchecked, from her eyes. As a fanged beast continued to clamp her between its jaws of lightning, causing shipwrecks of thunder to cascade throughout her entire beleaguered frame. The pain… it made her want to vomit. But if she vomited here, she could choke to death.

So intent was she on this battle, breathing without screaming, breathing without vomiting, that she barely noticed it when her room abruptly darkened, and the musky wooded scent of sandalwood entwined with rose came into her nostrils.

Through the morass of her agony, she sensed Wolff behind her. "Oh, my dearest one, what can I do to help you?" Wolff whispered. Her voice broke in empathy as she spoke the words, and Anna knew they were sincere. They were no longer the words of a therapist to a lady; they were the soulful words of one kindred spirit to another.

Anna opened her mouth, and out fell a soft, whimpered cry. She couldn't hold it in, any more than she could stop her heart from beating.

She heard Wolff sit down on the chair next to her bed. "My lady, may I touch you, to see about your fever? Tap the sheet with your finger to say yes."

It took a moment, but Anna then tapped.

She felt the coolness of Wolff's hand against her forehead and her cheek, and the hiss of indrawn breath. "You're not burning up, but you are warmer than you should be," Wolff whispered. "Keep breathing, my dearest heart. I need to give you an injection of antibiotics. Wait for me."

Wolff moved away, but she continued to talk, narrating what she was doing as she went to the wardrobe for her kit, as she prepared the injection with a syringe, and as she returned to Anna's bedside. Anna felt the cool tinge of the alcohol against her arm. The press of the needle into her arm was immensely painful; Anna began to sob with the pain of it.

Wolff's own breathing began to change as she withdrew the needle and swiped again. When a teardrop landed on Anna's arm, piercing her with clarity and beauty, Anna realized that Wolff was weeping with her.

This woman. _Wept_ with her.

It was more than her husband had ever done, in more than thirty years of marriage.

"Oh, no," she thought she heard Wolff growl, "I will _not_ lose you today. I will not lose you, Lady Skaldenfoss. You are mine, you hear me? You are _mine_."

In this moment, Anna agreed with Wolff. She was hers alone. The thought was immensely warming, and comforting.

A towel was dampened in cold water, wrung out, and applied to Anna's aching forehead. The coolness of it was incredibly welcome; Anna relaxed but slightly in the sheets.

Yet Wolff hadn't truly touched her up to this point. Anna could _feel_ her warmth, her empathy and compassion, as if it were an aura that surrounded her nurse, and it was deep and broad and vast enough to encompass Anna in all her pain. Finally she was able to speak, though what came out was but a whisper. "Wolff, touch me, please."

The words hadn't come out right. Anna had wanted to ask for a back massage, or a foot rub, or anything to take her focus away from her pain. She wanted the miracle of Wolff's hands, the warm chocolate ocean of her spirit. Anna thought of sleek candy fishes, and of strong Greek-style coffee, and of bright pieces of string pounced upon by soft, cunning kittens.

She wanted the _pull_ again, the pull of gossamer, of gloss. She wanted _Wolff._

"Of course, my darling, my heart," Wolff whispered as she reached for the laces on Anna's shift, undoing them. She reverently put her oiled hands on Anna's shoulders and back and began to softly rub. Anna waited for the familiarity of the massage to soothe her, to sand away the jagged edges of her pain. She waited, her face in her pillow, her hands gripping the sheets, her eyes still closed shut against the shuttered darkness of her bedchamber.

But relief did not come. Only the same writhing, twisting, tenacious sensation of agony, which was somehow intensified and worsened by the soft attention of Wolff's hands.

It did not take long for Anna to realize that she couldn't bear even this, the soft and caring touch of her therapist. When she realized that her poor body wouldn't even allow Wolff to touch her and relieve her of her pain, Anna descended at once into a black pit of agony and despair, once again wishing that she were dead and gone, oh if only she could faint or pass away, and tiptoe oblivious through these awful minutes and hours with all their blades and boulders, all their malice and ire.

With a choking cry, Anna gasped for Wolff to stop. Wolff lifted her hands away. Anna heard the heartbreaking concern in her voice as she said, "Oh, honey." Wolff paused, and then said, "Laudanum. My lady, please let me bring you laudanum."

Anna nodded.

Wolff was gone only a short while. When she returned, she had the dose prepared in a cup of warm tea. Anna realized that she would have to sit up to drink it. Even though her body was roaring, she could have sworn she heard Wolff say something like, "I'd sell my soul for a straw."

Wolff's hands were gentle as she lifted Anna, helping her onto her back. This time, when Anna dared to open her eyes a little, she noticed that the room was very dark; Wolff had even covered the electric bedside lamp with a dark, navy blue cloth, swaddling the room, making of her bedchamber a primordial sea.

Then Anna looked at Wolff's face. Her blue eyes were creased in incredible worry and concern, and there were shadows under her eyes. Her hair was slightly mussed in its typical white-gold knot at the back of her head. She was seated at the edge of Anna's bed, waiting to assist her. She gave Anna a small smile as she reached out to hold her upright, and then she gave her the cup of tea. Anna needed both of her hands to steady the cup of tea as she brought it to her mouth. Tears slipped unchecked down her cheeks.

The temperature was perfect. Not so tepid as to be unpalatable, yet not so hot as to scorch her tongue. Anna gulped down the tea, tasting the bitterness of the opiate in the dregs. When the cup was empty she passed it back to Wolff, who kept supporting her with one arm as she placed the cup on the table.

Then Wolff tucked her back into bed, helping her onto her side, facing the center of the bed. Anna wished she could tuck her knees closer to her chest. Tears kept slipping from her eyes, for the pain remained bold and fierce and menacing, still pulsing and beating through her muscles and sinews. "Please stay with me, don't leave me," Anna whispered as she took Hans' barren pillow in her hands and squeezed.

"I will stay. Dear heart, of course I'll stay." Wolff's voice was nectar and ambrosia, the only balm to be found in this bedchamber.

"Your hand on my hip, but no more. Please?"

For her silent reply, Wolff put her hand on the coverlet over Anna's hip, just as she had done their first week together. Anna focused on that soft touch, that warm pressure, the sweetness of Wolff's spirit, as she waited, aching and burning, for the opiate to blunt the edges of her pain. How she longed to lose herself in the downy depths of the laudanum, to pass through clouds of gauze instead of storms of glass.

So she waited. And waited.

And waited.

Wolff's hand on her hip became her only anchor to the world. Her entire universe was a storm-wracked ocean, her body a ship tossed on the freakish, maleficent waves. Lightning continued to streak through her nerves, thunder roared in her feverish head. Her breath could not be regular; it hitched and paused as those unseen waves crashed over her, threatening to take her down, threatening to take her under, threatening to sink her forever in the deep where all the leviathans are.

The storm was immense; this meagre dose of laudanum could not conquer it. Could barely even blunt it.

When an age had passed with scarcely any relief, Anna would have sold her very soul to be free of it.

When another wave of agony broke across her body, surging like a tempest, frothing and cruel, Anna thought she cried out Wolff's name.

"Oh, sweetheart," she heard Wolff whisper.

Then she felt Wolff's hands, lifting her and moving her until she was on her side facing Wolff and the edge of the bed. Wolff spoke again. "There is a mental technique we may try, my lady. That's the last thing I can think of, my dear, other than taking you by ambulance to the hospital."

No ambulance. No hospital. Not until she tried Wolff's mental trick. Anna would not put her trust in Dr. Lund, nor in any other nurse or caregiver. In this moment, all her trust was like ingots of burnished gold, and she pressed the entirety of her fortune into the hands of Elsa Wolff.

"I trust you," Anna whispered, her eyes mere slits against the dim light of the room. Her hands once again gripped the sheets. She was barely aware of Wolff ringing for Gerda, or of Gerda's quick arrival. Wolff rattled off a number of requests. While Gerda was gone, Wolff fetched other items from the wardrobe, and arranged everything she needed on the little table.

Gerda soon returned with the items that Wolff had requested. Wolff then charged Gerda with guarding the door. No one was to enter, not even Lord Skaldenfoss or any other member of Anna's family. Until Wolff opened the door herself, this area would be forbidden.

Gerda looked to Anna for confirmation of the orders, and Anna nodded for her. Gerda's face was pale and concerned, and she bobbed her head as she crept out of the room. Wolff closed the door behind the maid, and then rested her forehead against it, seemingly needing to gather some sustenance or mental energy from the slim moment of quiet.

Anna's eyes were fixated on her. In this moment, she needed Wolff to be her guardian, her saviour. She needed Wolff to save her from the storm, to pull her body back to the shore.

The dark room grew darker, and Anna could hear faint rumbles of thunder coming from the sea.

Several heartbeats of time passed, while Wolff rested her forehead against the door. Anna could see the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath.

And then Wolff turned to face her, and Wolff returned to her side, and with every step she took she seemed to shine like she had never shone before. Surely Anna had never seen anyone gleam as Elsa Wolff did in this moment, as if there was another moon in her concerned eyes, in the generous curve of her mouth. As if there were stars upon her neck, and along the curve of her breast.

Her therapist sat down on the edge of Anna's bed with one knee tucked under her. Then she reached out with her soft, gentle hands, and very deliberately curled Anna around her body. With every movement, she tucked Anna as close to her seated body as possible. Anna willed herself to be soft and submissive as Wolff pulled her close, and she was so incredibly pleased to be so physically close to this woman, her therapist. Again, Wolff had known, she had known what Anna wanted, and needed.

Wolff's hand was upon her cheek and forehead, and there was a satisfied nod of her head. She didn't speak, though Anna could sense that her fever had retreated. Wolff dampened several towels in steaming water. She wrung them out and them folded them into the hollows of Anna's bent knees, right on top of her pants, not caring a whit for wetting them. Another was wrapped around the small of her back, and the last was placed at the base of Anna's neck. Anna melted into them, wishing that they would melt the grinding icebergs of pain that continued to ravage her.

Anna took immense comfort from Wolff's proximity, and wished she could somehow curl even closer to her. With some effort, Anna lifted her hand and put it on Wolff's knee, and kept it there as Wolff continued to work, for she drew strength and comfort from the touch.

Another tsunami of pain roared through her body, starting somewhere in her head before thundering through her muscles, rattling the cavities of her bones, and her fingers clutched Wolff's leg even more tightly.

Wolff bruised several leaves of peppermint and cast them into a bowl with steaming water; the scent cut cleanly through the air. There was a sudden bright light from outside, and soon an answering boom of thunder. The thunder reverberated inside her bones, and struck the dread gongs of her splitting headache, and Anna stifled a groan. Could there be any worse timing for a thunderstorm than now? Generally she adored storms, and loved to watch them advance across the water. But not now.

Wolff finally tucked the light coverlet back over Anna's body, and under her outstretched arm. When Anna's fingers once again tightened in a wave of pain upon Wolff's leg, Wolff offered her hand to hold instead. Anna gratefully took it, and clutched it as if it were the only lifeline to be found among the shipwreck of her body, tossed by ferocious waves on the endless sea. Anna held Wolff's hand and dared nothing else; she had to keep so very quiet, so very still. It still hurt to breathe, and the pressure of clothing on her skin was immense.

And this was not enough! She held Wolff's hand, and was curled tight and close to Wolff's warm and curvy body, but it wasn't enough, it couldn't be enough, oh the laudanum had failed her, everyone had failed her, she had nothing now, she _was_ nothing…

When another jagged, glassy wave of pain broke over her, Anna opened her mouth and whimpered, "Help me, Wolff. Do something. Please."

"Look at me," Wolff unexpectedly demanded. Surprised at the commanding tone of voice, Anna turned her head and opened her eyes wider as she stared at the lovely woman before her.

"This is the moment that will define you," Wolff said, speaking in firm reverence. Her eyes blazed with faith and love. "This might just be the most important moment of your life, Anna."

Never yet in all her service had Wolff used Anna's Christian name. The sound of it on her lips shocked the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss. It was a beautiful shock, like a great and powerful wave, to lift her from the wreck of her suffering so she could be cast upon pain-free shores.

"Don't you shrink away from this," Wolff continued. "Don't deny it. Let it in, Anna. Break your heart open, open up your body, give the pain a place in your life. That's all it wants from you. It wants to be acknowledged, it wants to be known. In a strange way, the pain wants to help you, for it will provide boundaries for your endurance. Don't fight it, because it's a war that you cannot win. You must surrender to it, Anna. Let it pass through you. Let it bring you to the other side."

Anna wanted to believe what her therapist was telling her. Really, she did.

But, oh god, _the pain!_

"I can't do it," Anna whispered. "It's too great for me to endure alone. Oh, _Elsa_ …"

And something _shifted_ inside Anna as she spoke Elsa's name for the first time. It was a vibration so small and yet so profound that she knew it would shift the entire foundation of Anna's life.

It was as if there was a light inside her therapist, some godliness that merely awaited this exact moment of recognition. To call her by her true name was to invoke it and all the latent power within it.

Power which Anna could harness, and use, to pass through to the other side.

Elsa's eyes melted in fondness to hear Anna use her true name. "Oh yes, you can do this," Elsa fervently replied. "There is nothing on this earth that can defeat you, Anna Arendelle. Certainly not this. You pass through this and you will never be the same again. Breathe it in. Live it. Love it. Pain is our greatest teacher, and our truest ally. Pain comes invading like an army, yet it can be integrated, and absorbed. This moment will pass, and so will the next. Stay strong, Anna. I believe in you. Oh, honey, I believe in you so very much."

Elsa lifted her free hand to touch, and hold Anna's cheek.

Then Elsa leaned forward and pressed her warm lips against that pale scar on Anna's forehead. The kiss was unexpected, and so very sweet.

Anna felt branded.

When Elsa withdrew both her hand and her lips, that same love and devotion ever blazing in her oceanic eyes, Anna begged, "Tell me how to do it, Elsa. Guide me. Teach me."

"Close your eyes, my dearest heart."

Anna at first was reluctant to close her eyes, for the sight of Elsa Wolff before her was enchanting, enriching. But she did as she was instructed even as she tightened her hold on Elsa's hand, and Anna feasted on Elsa's affection as much as her words. How parched she had been for these words of love and fondness, as if she were stranded sailor who unexpectedly comes across an oasis!

Elsa's voice was low, dusky, magnetic. "Cast your mind within the confines of your body. It knows best. Your body knows what it needs most. This is our space, Anna. This is our time. There is divinity, yes, even here. Even in this darkness there is so much light. Excavate that light, Anna. For you are made of this light, from the first moment I looked upon you I knew it, I recognized your spark, your flame, your conflagration, how it danced, my dear, how it roared!"

The words Elsa spoke were so strange, but they seemed to snag and catch at the core of her. Anna did as her therapist bid, and cast her awareness into her throbbing, aching, splintering body, seeking, ever seeking the light that Elsa claimed was there and was her own.

And in seeking, she found it. There it was. Beating like a second sun right behind her heart and just as apparent.

"Now, my dearest one, there is a fire inside me as well, and it too is roaring, it too is divine. Feel my hand in yours and use it as a conduit, Anna, reach inside me, take my fire and draw it right through your fingertips and into your body. It is merging with your own; our fires fit together so perfectly and so well. Do you have my fire, Anna, are you holding it in your body?"

"Yes," Anna whispered in the luscious dark behind her eyelids, for so she did, so perfectly and so well.

"Imagine your pain as darkness, dear heart, imagine all of your pain as a shadowy monster composed of darkness and midnight. See it clearly in your mind. Behold its edges. For it is bounded, it has shape, it has colour, it has substance. It exists. It is real. You can see it, Anna. For there it is.

"And then acknowledge your pain. Bow your head to it, even for just a moment in time. Show your neck to it. Trust me, dearest. It will not kill you. It will not ravage you. It will respect you. You will make the pain love you even as I love you, and as I cherish you. Oh, my darling, you are so very loved, so very cherished."

By this time, Elsa's words were barely heard at all. They seemed to transfer as entire bubbles of thought, straight from Elsa's consciousness to Anna's. There was nothing lost in this transfer. Every word Elsa spoke, Anna believed, for she could see it, she could _feel_ it.

"Now see our fire, burning so bright and bold in your body. See the great light it creates. It is white-hot, it is incandescent, it burns like another sun! Together we are so strong, my dear, together we are so very bright.

"Take our light and shine it on this darkness. It will hurt all the worse for a while, dear heart, as you illuminate the edges, as you behold the depth and shape of your pain. But keep this light on, keep it shining bright, for you are strong, Anna, you are so very strong. You have weathered every storm that has come upon you. There is so much light in you, Anna. Take all that light, take all our love, and shine it on that monster of pain until it is no more. You are so bright. You are so pure. And as your light shines, if you find that the darkness multiplies and is still too great, just pull on my hand, and take more of my fire. I am here for you, honey. I love you. I have come to love you so very much."

The words of love hitched as they came from Elsa's mouth, and they were so unexpected and so very exquisite. They caused a cascade of wonder to reverberate inside Anna; they amplified her light and strength. Anna held these words as yet another precious gift given by her therapist just as she held the memory of that brief kiss upon her forehead; all of it was like leaping sunshine in the palms of her hands. They joined yet another beloved memory, of Elsa's words to her on their very first day together.

 _My courage I give to you, as I would give all good things to you_.

Oh, yes, her therapist somehow had the power, and the courage, and the right to give all good gifts to Anna Arendelle.

And Anna would in turn receive them.

Ever after, Anna would not be able to say how long this took. Her entire existence seemed to distil into this one mental challenge. There was no past anymore, there was no future. There was only the present moment, and she marked it by the woman whose hand she held. She took comfort from that proffered hand, and from the words of love and affection she had heard, and from the good darkness behind her eyelids, even as she rallied her armies of light and life and courage, such golden sentinels they were, with such gleaming helms, carrying wild pennants that flung rampant in a light summer breeze, facing the horde of dim shadowy creatures that stretched before her in an impossible expanse, how tall they were, how darkly regal and magnificent, how their numbers threatened to blot out her summer sun! Anna beheld them, these opposing forces of midnight and agony, and she recognized them, for they were part of her, bone of her bone, blood of her blood, and flesh of her flesh. She held kinship with them; she could no more destroy them with aggression than she could cut off her own arm, or tear out her own eye!

So Anna beheld her pain, even as it appeared as so great and so vast an array, and she did not quail. Elsa's love held her, Elsa's courage sustained her, Elsa's words instructed her in this most crucial moment. She held Elsa's fire in her hands, and it somehow magnified her own, blending and merging and growing until she could feel the radiance of it pouring forth from her skin.

Upon this vast mental field Anna stood on her own two legs, oh such straight and tall and perfect legs, and watched as the army of darkness advanced on her, strangely compelling smiles upon their wraith-like faces. How they called to her, how they beckoned, how they hissed of wretchedness and defeat and despair.

Anna stood her ground, feeling combined fire in hands that she would not lift.

No, Anna bowed instead, and showed this army of darkness the creamy and unsullied line of her neck.

And there she waited with baited breath for them to ravage her, to assault her, to ruin her and carry her off into their deep lairs, the stomach and guts of their dreadful fangéd world, there to feed upon her for a thousand years!

But they could not withstand her dignity, they could not bear her elegance, they could not believe that she could choose to face them, and surrender to them.

Her neck. It confounded them.

Oh, how her light poured forth from her skin, leaping joyously, magnificently through the air, illuminating these shadowy hordes; a fiery light that they simply could not endure, and toppled they from their thrones and places of rule, bellies to the dust they fell, cringing and fawning before the light and majesty that kept advancing, like twin suns shining in the firmament, until their very frames seemed to waver and grow indistinct, their edges began to tatter and bleed into nothingness, and they became as so much ashes, and so much dust, to billow away on the gusts of this light summer breeze.

Only then did Anna lift her head once more.

And for a time Anna Arendelle simply stood, there in her mind's eye, upon two mental legs that would always support her, and a strong back that would always sustain her, guided by the intuition of a head and heart that would never, aye, could never be broken.

And now that the hordes of pain were gone, Anna could see the shape of truth within them, in the lines they held. As they completely dissolved they seemed to reveal a secret to her, a secret that had been blotted out by her resistance. For the first time in her life, Anna looked upon this truth, looked deep into the core of her, a place that had been hidden, blanketed by pain.

She recognized it. Of course she did. For it was her truth, her essential nature, the very core of her being.

And never would Anna have realized that she could find such truth underneath such terrible pain. How had she lived her entire life, almost sixty years upon this earth, without knowing the bedrock of her own consciousness, and the dizzying fortitude of her own soul?

Could she return to the life she had once lived without being changed? She thought not.

So there she hovered, for an indeterminate length of time, luxuriating in the truth before her, getting acquainted with this treasure of knowledge.

Had she ever seen anything so precious, or so beautiful?

It rewrote her perceptions of herself, and she knew she would never be the same.

 _(I am divine!)_

For there upon the golden field of her subconscious, Anna discovered that there was a portion of her that was truly endless, boundless, and limitless, like the very universe itself.

And she realized that her body was her chosen vessel, a vehicle by which her divinity would perceive the world. A day would come when she would gently slip out of this body, her spark to join billions of others upon the sea of stars.

Anna could scarcely believe that it had been her surrender to her pain that had revealed this truth to her, this knowledge of her own divinity.

And that it had been Elsa Wolff who had guided her to this startling moment of revelation.

And as she stood here, in this very moment, Anna realized she had a choice to make.

She could slip away from her body this very moment. She could step out of it as easily as she took off her clothes. There, beyond this golden field, her dear children waited. She could almost see them, Leif and Heidi. She could join them, and be at peace. It would be so simple; her death was a third sun, beating alongside her heart, ready to engulf it and silence it forever.

Or.

 _(candy_

 _kittens_

 _grandchildren_

 _and…_

 _Elsa Wolff)_

Anna smiled, and turned her back on this summery golden field, retreating from the enticing glade of death, carrying her knowledge of her divinity as her treasure. She turned away, choosing to return to her paralyzed legs, her once-broken bones, and her unknown future.

And when Anna finally came back to awareness, back inside her exhausted body, she could feel that her cheeks were wet with tears. She knew her head ached with strain. But the great tempest of agony that had tossed her about had stilled, leaving only trembling and spent muscles and shallow breath.

The pain was truly gone.

At last Anna dared to open her eyes, and the first thing she beheld was Elsa's pale and concerned face, lit by cool lamplight. Elsa smiled, though the smile could not reach the ocean of trepidation in her eyes, and she blew out a soft and warm breath before gently squeezing Anna's hand. "Thank the gods," she whispered, a quaver to her voice that struck at Anna's very soul. "You were gone… a very long time, honey."

Truth blazed inside Anna Arendelle, a truth excavated and brought so painstakingly to the light.

And in the awesome light of this immutable truth, Anna knew something that Elsa had never said aloud. She _knew_ it, to the very core of her.

"You know this, don't you, Elsa?" Anna whispered. "You have known pain like this. You know its name."

Elsa mutely nodded her head. Tears gathered in the corners of her reddened eyes.

Anna remembered what Elsa had told her on their first day together.

 _(you can't fool me_

 _you sit there as the embodiment of all that is winter_

 _yet, deep inside, you hold an invincible summer)_

Elsa sat on the bed next to her. Elsa's hand was in her own. And there was that ocean, that lovely ocean of anxiety and affection in her eyes.

Anna wanted to drown in it.

And Anna knew she loved her. Somehow, she loved this woman more than she ever deemed possible.

All the love that Elsa freely gave, Anna finally felt able to give in turn.

And that polished key that Anna had endlessly turned in her hands somehow opened the lock of her own heart.

Slowly, deliberately, Anna Arendelle said, "I choose you, Elsa Wolff. You are my choice now."

Tears spilled down Elsa's worn cheeks. She did not wipe them away. Instead, she lifted her free hand to tuck a tendril of Anna's hair back behind her ear, caressing her cheek and jaw as she did so. Her touch felt smooth and warm, yet Anna shivered. That simple touch seemed to reach much further than her skin; it scraped against the beating sun of her soul.

"Oh, sweetheart, that means so much to me. Thank you for saying it." She then held Anna's cheek; Anna turned into that touch as she heard Elsa whisper, so soft, so incredibly sweet, "Can you sleep now, Anna? My lady, sleep if you can. I'll be here when you wake."

Anna squeezed Elsa's hand one last time before closing her eyes.

And slept.

...

I hope you all enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please share your thoughts with me. - Jen


	9. Chapter 9 - Gravity

**Chapter Nine – Gravity**

Elsa waited, still tenderly holding her lady's hand. She wanted to explore that hand, to memorize the lines upon her palms, the wrinkles that appeared between her fingers. It was a beautiful hand, and it felt wonderful to hold. That hand was alive, her lady was alive!

Anna's breathing was slow and regular. Her face was pale; there were shadows under her eyes. Her eyelashes touched her skin like charcoal feathers. Elsa's heart finally began to slow, her own breathing to become regular once more. She felt wrung out, hollowed; distress and anxiety had excavated every last ounce of her strength.

So Elsa sat some time longer, until perhaps ten minutes had passed, wanting to be assured of the depth and quality of Anna's sleep. Only then did she carefully rise from the bed, taking her lady's hand from her knee as she did so, placing it reverently on the sheets. Elsa's entire body ached from sitting in the unnatural position for so long, so she stretched and then she paced, rubbing her aching and shining muscles with her hands.

Then she stood in the middle of the dark room, looking down at the lady in the bed. At one point in Anna's mental struggle, Elsa had felt her lady's breathing change; it had become incredibly slow, rhythmic and deep. Long pauses had appeared between each breath, and her hand had grown limp. Elsa had recognized it, oh yes she had. There was gravity to that type of breath, the gravity of the universe tugging a soul back to the heavens.

And Elsa had wept then, silent and unmarked tears, for she had felt her lady slipping away. And Elsa could do nothing more to stop it. All her efforts of the past month would have been in vain.

But then Anna had returned. Her skin flushed once more with blood and life, her breath grew stronger, more determined. Something must have happened to her, there on the inside. Had she made the same choice that a much younger Elsa had once made, after her own devastating injury, the choice to come back to life instead of embracing the long sleep of death?

How brave Anna was, to come back to this life that had such ruin, that was so seemingly barren of hope or promise!

The relief Elsa had felt when Anna finally opened her eyes was so immense; she had nearly fainted of it.

Elsa closed her eyes now, and stood in the room, breathing, thinking, remembering.

 _(I choose you, Elsa_

 _you are my choice now)_

Those words hearkened back to their first day together, when Elsa had urged Anna to give her a month, to pass this trial by fire, to see the proof of Elsa's methods.

And now, Anna chose her.

How beautiful it was, to be someone's conscious choice!

Fresh tears pricked her eyes, eyes that had already wept a great amount of tears this very day. Elsa couldn't allow them to flow freely, not yet. The door to this bedchamber had been shut for hours; Anna's son would be anxious. They needed the news of life she bore.

So Elsa took one more long, deep breath, remembering how it had felt to hear her true name on Anna's lips, before walking into the bathing chamber. She stood at the sink and waited for the taps to run a little hot before quickly washing her face of all her tears.

There was no washing away of her exhaustion. She could see her anxiety and her tiredness like a patina over her features.

Elsa then returned to the chamber. She pulled her hair out of its knot, quickly combed it with her lady's comb, and then, on a whim, decided to braid it. It had been a long time, but her fingers remembered how. It actually felt quite nice to have that weight off her head, and she brought the braid around her neck, so it dangled by her heart.

She finally walked over to the main doorway of her lady's bedchamber and slowly opened it, expecting to see Gerda waiting on the bench outside.

It was her husband, Kai. He rose the moment Elsa appeared in the doorway. Elsa automatically lifted her finger to her lips, and mostly shut the door behind her. She did not want the light from the gallery to steal into her lady's chamber and disrupt her sleep. At the confusion on Elsa's face, Kai quietly said, "We've been taking shifts. This is the third hour, Miss Wolff, since you closed the door. How is Lady Skaldenfoss?"

"The worst of the bout is finally over," Elsa whispered. She put her hand on the doorframe as another wave of dizziness overcame her.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Wolff?"

"I am quite all right. I just haven't eaten much since breakfast."

"Lord Skaldenfoss has been quite anxious. He wants to know when you will allow him to see his mother."

"He can come now and look at her if it will ease his mind. But she is finally asleep, and I will not have her wakened." Elsa spoke softly but firmly. In this instance, she served Lady Skaldenfoss alone. Kai turned to leave, but Elsa said, "Kai, how soon is dinner?"

"In an hour hence."

"I beg you, please do not ring the dressing gong. Not this night."

Kai nodded and left down the hallway. Elsa took a moment to peek back into the room. Anna was still sleeping, though her hand twitched upon the sheets, as if seeking skin to caress, or a hand to hold.

The beauty of holding a woman's hand; Elsa closed her eyes briefly and continued holding the doorframe. It had felt so wonderful, so divine. It had snagged at something within Elsa's soul that she thought she had buried a long time ago.

Elsa heard footfalls, and opened her eyes. She saw the young Lord approaching. He looked anxious, but his eyes also flicked in appreciation of her new hairstyle as well, as well as noticing her tiredness. She stepped forward to speak quietly with him, to reassure him that his mother had passed through the worst of the pain, and was finally sleeping.

"You may look upon her, my lord, but you may not sit with her, nor speak. I will not have her disturbed."

He looked so young and handsome as he stood there in his suit and tie. She saw his throat bob up and down as he swallowed. "It was that bad, was it?" he asked.

Elsa tried to forget the look of immense agony on Anna's face; the way Anna had seized her hand as she was caught in the monstrous coils of pain. She tried to forget the anxious hour or more that had passed in silence as Anna had fought, unaided, unspeaking, caught within a mental battle that Elsa had instigated yet could not control. Tears pricked her eyes again and she turned her face slightly away from Lord Skaldenfoss as she replied, "It was bad, my lord. I was ready to take her by ambulance to the hospital."

His eyes widened in surprise. "I thought you gave her laudanum."

"I did, yet the laudanum failed her today, my lord."

"Then what worked?"

Elsa paused to wipe her eyes before she answered, "A certain mental trick that I had learned from my Master in India, when I served at the monastery there. It was the last thing I could think of, Lord Skaldenfoss. And it worked."

For a moment he looked at her as if she were a mystery, a puzzle to be contemplated. Surely he could see her grief, her exhaustion, and her triumph, all in the way she yet held the doorframe of Anna's bedchamber with tears still fresh-wiped from her eyes. Then he wet his lips and asked, "May I see her, Miss Wolff?"

"Yes, my lord." Elsa led the way into the chamber darkened by storm and night-blue cloth upon the lamp. It cast her lady into the meekest of shadows, as if Anna were being cradled by benevolent dreams. He saw her as she lay there, twitching just slightly in her sleep, with a drying towel tucked behind her neck, a coverlet over her body. As Elsa had instructed, he did not speak aloud, nor attempt to sit with her. He merely came out of the room again, waited for Elsa to follow him and nearly completely close the door, before he whispered, "Thank you for not leaving her, Miss Wolff. Your service… has been remarkable."

"My service is no less than she deserves," Elsa replied, the words coming easily to her lips even as one hand began to absently rub her aching back. "Now, my lord, let me return to my duties. After she wakes she will need to bathe, and dress, and eat, though at that point she may be able to receive your company. I shall keep you informed."

Lord Skaldenfoss looked at Elsa a moment longer, and oh Elsa could see her dear lady in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth. Pride for Anna suddenly gripped her heart, resolute and strong.

 _(I must save them_

 _I must save them all!)_

He finally nodded in agreement, and retreated back down the gallery.

Elsa watched him go before stealing back into the darkened room, closing the door behind her. Once inside, she watched Anna breathe for a moment or two before going to the window. She opened the shutters so she could see the mists of greyish black. The day was slipping away, unseen in the swirling masses of charcoal, stealing softly through the chaos of the passing storm. Elsa stood there, bemused with exhaustion, and looked at the nearly aimless tracks of raindrops against the windowpane. They fell heedlessly from the sky, only to strike this unforgiving surface and succumb to gravity.

Elsa stood there, and finally rested her forehead against the welcome coolness of the windowpane. Her hand was at her lower back again, rubbing, rubbing. She was thinking. Remembering.

She had a secret, and an edge to one of her many stories. She called this one Leif, and wondered if she would ever dare share it with Leif's mother. Surely it was a story that Anna deserved to be told; but how to tell the story of Leif without telling it all?

For Elsa had once had a similar torturous encounter, with Anna's youngest son.

France, 1918.

Leif had been awake past midnight in her hospital tent, sick with dysentery. Elsa had been so very tired, and he had invited her to sit a moment at the edge of his cot, and rest. As she had sat there, fuzzy with fatigue, he had reached into his bag, pulling out two pictures. One had been a wedding picture, showing his new French bride. The other had been of his family in Iskall Slott.

Elsa had stared at that picture. She recognized it. She knew that woman's face. It was the lady from the postcard.

Her voice had trembled as she had asked the young man his name. He said it was Leif Arendelle, and that he was the son of Baron Skaldenfoss of Norway.

That very moment, Elsa remembered his fate. But she could not stop it, no more than she could stop a runaway train on wintery tracks of iron and snow.

When the barrage of the Spring Offensive had shattered the camp of the Fifth Army four days later, she saw him again, this time without his lower legs.

 _I have to get him out!_

Verdens Ende, and orange lightning.

France, and a mangled Leif Arendelle.

Anna Arendelle, and boulders littering a snow-covered gorge in India's mountains.

Just how long had fate been leading her by the nose down this very road?

Now that Anna had chosen to come back to life, what would she make of it? When Elsa had completed her task of saving her life, what would Anna do with her gift of time? Now that her fate had been circumvented, what would the universe ask of the woman who slept in the bed next to her?

And what more could the universe ask of Elsa Wolff? Why else would she have been brought through time on the prongs of orange lightning? Was it truly her destiny to save this entire family?

Seeing Johan in the hallway had brought the memory of Leif to the forefront of her mind. In seeing Johan, she also saw her dear lady.

Elsa had believed she had saved Leif Arendelle. She had defied orders, forged a signature, and sent him home after assisting in the amputation of his legs. But his life hadn't been saved for long. He died here, at Iskall Slott. In the company of his wife, his mother and brother.

 _(at least he did not die in the tents in France, as had been written in the book!)_

Today was September 30. Her lady slept. But even now the fate in the guidebook could be realized; Anna Arendelle could still pass away. In this moment, or in another.

Death was like gravity itself. Inexorable. Certain.

How often could Elsa circumvent it?

What would be the price of changing fate's design?

She knew one price already. She was paying it even now.

Elsa took another deep breath. She stopped rubbing her back. She lifted both of her hands, her trembling and spent hands, and placed them on the welcome coolness of the windowpane. Her forehead against the cool glass, she closed her eyes to the weeping sky, to the drops of rain embraced by gravity. Elsa stayed there, knowing that with a single turn of her head she could behold her lady.

Breathing softly, slowly, and deeply, just as she had been taught, Elsa tried to regain her composure. She could _feel_ her lady behind her, dancing just inside the reach of sleep.

How she had wished to take away her lady's pain! If only she could have pulled it across the thin barrier of her skin, to enter her body instead, so she could pack it along the long shelves of her muscles and in the hollow cavities of her bones. Elsa would have gladly taken it instead, but that was impossible. She did all that was possible for her to do; she held her lady, and inspired her, and supported her.

It had been so terrible to watch. For as Elsa had held Anna's hand, as she had beheld the depths of Anna's pain, she came to realize that she loved her lady deeply.

Oh, yes, Elsa loved her, and felt compassion for her, and was still helpless in the face of Anna's pain.

Elsa splayed her fingers upon the glass, seeking new coolness for her heated palms. She screwed her eyes shut as a wave of pain rippled through her body. Her stomach scraped against her spine; she felt faint with hunger, but would not leave.

Dared not leave. Not yet.

A small voice spoke inside her mind, using her exhaustion as a conduit for its insidious words.

 _(shut her away, Elsa_

 _you cannot love her_

 _you can serve her, yes you can, with all the kindness in your heart_

 _but there can be no more_

 _heed…_

 _more than class separates you from her_

 _more than duty_

 _you just don't have_ time)

It took a very long time before the teachings of her Master helped her retrieve her serenity. Until then, Elsa bobbed along confused and torturous waves half filled with love and hope, and half filled with guilt for her inherent dishonesty.

…

Anna felt as if she had been floating along the skin of the endless sea, drifting with calm tides. The tempest had stilled, and the undertow was temporarily pacified, though she could feel it like a living, breathing presence under the surface of the water. She felt cradled within a life preserver; Elsa had pulled her back from the rip that had momentarily threatened to carry her out to sea.

The sky was dark above her. The thunderstorm had passed. Anna opened her mouth to breathe and realized that she was awake. She was awake and looking out into the dimness of her bedchamber, still swathed in navy shadows.

Anna was awake, and her body was wondrously heavy and content, and only the vaguest sensation of pressure was upon her lower back, and at her temple.

And now that she was awake, she slowly turned her head, and saw her nurse.

Elsa was standing at the window, resting her forehead against it, her eyes closed, both palms open and placed upon the glass as if she were praying a mute and yet damned prayer. Even as Anna watched her in silence, she saw Elsa bring one hand down from the window in order to rub her lower back, her cheeks and eyes cast in a slight grimace of pain. Beyond the window was the drenched expanse of evening upon the coast; clouded, aged, immense.

For several moments, Anna did not move, though she ached to stretch her weary limbs. She just wanted this slim moment of peace, this chance opportunity to gaze at her therapist. This woman who rested against the glass had somehow brought Anna back from the crumbling precipice of death. This woman was haloed by rainlight, gleaming off her spun platinum hair. Elsa must have taken a moment to refresh herself; her hair was now in a long, lustrous cable. Just this slight change in her appearance somehow made her even more beautiful than more.

However, Anna could also see her therapist's face. It was so soft, so lovely, and so incredibly fatigued.

In looking at Elsa, here in the oceanic quiet of her bedchamber, Anna easily recalled the words Elsa had spoken. They danced to her on the tides of Anna's memory; how Elsa said she believed in her, that she loved and cherished her.

And Anna found an answering love burning steadily inside her own heart; devotion and precious regard and so much gratitude for all Elsa had done for her. She didn't dare speak of this love and affection, for it was enough in this moment that she allowed herself to feel it. To wrap herself in it, like the warmest of blankets.

And the sensation of fire that Elsa had given her, fuelling her encounter in that invisible world, Anna kept that as well, hoarding it like all of Elsa's other treasures: her courage, her fire, her words; no wonder Anna was able to surrender and thereby defeat her pain, with such incredible might on her side!

Yet all the strength and power she had felt upon that summery field of her mind now seemed to have evaporated. Anna felt as weak as a day-old kitten, and the thought of resuming her normal life seemed as impossible as space travel. How could she pick up all the stray pieces of her life, when the broken bits of her had been scattered upon the winds and the waves?

Perhaps Elsa would help her gather them up, and return them to their rightful place.

If there were an endless sea inside her, one that lapped up against the shores of her body, could it possibly extend beyond the bounds of her skin? Could even her thoughts and feelings be broadcasted beyond the physical space she inhabited? Perhaps all such things were possible among kindred spirits, for it seemed as if her thoughts directed towards her therapist had become such a wave, which crested against Elsa's body and soul.

For Elsa slowly turned her head, rotating it there upon what must be delicious coolness of the windowpane, and she saw that Anna's eyes were open.

The waves of their thoughts broke upon each other, and absorbed each other, merging into one beautiful and wondrous sea. For a moment that stretched as long and glossy as toffee, Anna and Elsa looked into each other's eyes, unspeaking, unmoving, allseeing.

And then Elsa somehow looked _beyond_ , under the surface of the waves, even under the rip. She looked long, and she looked deep, she perceived Anna with her particular concentrated awareness. Never in her life had anyone looked at Anna in this way; it slithered through every wall and fortification Anna had ever built, perceiving her as if her walls had never even existed.

How was it possible for anyone to _see_ her like this, actually see the truth that Anna had only recently discovered for herself; Anna felt naked, she felt opaque, she felt divine, as if she was composed of nothing except sparks of celestial light…

So Elsa looked at her, even while she remained standing by the windowpane.

Then she quirked her head but slightly upon her lovely neck, and blessed Anna with the slightest hint of a smile, and then Elsa came to her, passing over floorboards that could have been storms of thunderclouds and glass. She overcame all obstacles with her tireless feet, with her dedicated service, and found herself once again at Anna's side.

Where she did not ask how Anna felt, nor did she speak unnecessarily. The silence… it was too tender, too sweet.

"I will draw you a bath, my lady," Elsa said quietly as she sat on the edge of Anna's bed. Anna was still curled in the exact same position as before, and Elsa resumed her place at Anna's side as if it had been carved solely for her a thousand years ago. She took her place and occupied it with more strength and dignity than Hans ever had. "If it please you, I'd like to get you out of your damp clothes." She gently plucked the nearly dry towels from Anna's neck, back, and knees.

Anna nodded her assent.

Elsa didn't touch her yet. She wearily got up from the bed and went into the adjoining bathing chamber. Anna soon heard the sound of taps running. She closed her eyes and tuned into her body long enough to realize that she felt as heavy and contented as clay, and that, despite her brief nap, exhaustion clouded all her movements.

Anna also realized that she had no desire to encounter any member of her family, least of all her son. Somehow a precious bubble had been created in the aftermath of her pain, and she did not want it to break, not yet. She could not bear his anxiety, nor hear his questions. All Anna needed was this navy-blue intimacy that Elsa instinctively provided.

For this had become a safe place where Anna didn't need her fortifications or her walls. Indeed, what good had her personal fortress ever been, when Elsa had somehow already climbed over the walls or transformed them into sleek candy fishes or gossamer glossy toffee? When even her wish for an easy, good death had somehow departed under the patient erosion of Elsa's care?

Anna stretched what muscles she could while she waited. She could see her wheelchair close by; soon Elsa would lift her into that chair and take her into the bathing chamber. Soon, oh all too soon, a normal life would be foisted upon her, with her family, and with food, and with that abominable chair!

She would not wish for the pain to return, but she did wish for this strange droplet of tenderness and peace to remain. Oh, if only it could remain!

 _(your son foisted this woman on you_

 _and you finally chose her_

 _just what else could you truly choose?)_

A short time later Elsa returned. Her step seemed to drag upon the floor. Yet she came to Anna's bedside and peeled aside the covers. Anna knew what to do; she mutely lifted her arms, ready for Elsa to lift her into the wheelchair.

From the moment Elsa picked her up in her arms, Anna knew that something had _changed_. Elsa picked her up, so very carefully and deliberately, one arm under her knees, and the other under her shoulders. A small oomph of breath, and then Anna hung from Elsa's arms.

Elsa started walking. Not to deposit her in the chair.

Elsa started carrying her to the bathing chamber.

Anna could not bear the wonder of it; she wrapped her arms tightly around Elsa's neck in gladness, one of her hands encountering the silkiness of Elsa's thick braid.

Then Anna burrowed her face into the crook of Elsa's neck and shoulder, touching Elsa's bare skin with her nose and her eyelashes. She heard the softest quaver of a sigh in Elsa's breath, and her therapist held her even tighter in response.

And then Elsa pressed her cheek against Anna's mussed hair, and held it there, even as she continued to slowly walk, step by dedicated step, taking Anna into the similarly darkened bathing chamber.

It was a movement so tender and so sweet that Anna knew she would never forget it.

Though all the years of her life would pass her by, always she would remember this moment of soft communion, this moment where she grasped Elsa's neck, and felt the undying fortitude of the arms that held her and supported her. She would always feel Elsa's cheek pressed into her head, and feel her smooth and perfect neck so near her lips.

Anna's long fingers pressed even tighter against Elsa's neck and body, expressing all the mountains of love and affection that she couldn't say aloud. Silent were these mountains in all their height and majestic glory, but this silence could not diminish their beauty, and their absolute _presence_.

So Elsa brought her into the bathing chamber, which was lit only by sconces of candles, flickering in the fading storm-darkness. Elsa carefully, lovingly stripped off all of Anna's clothes and gently deposited her into the bathtub, already frothy and fragrant with bubbles and oil.

The heat of the bath was absolutely perfect, just hot enough to sting her upper body; Anna gladly sank into the tub, using her hands to bend her unfeeling knees. In the past, Elsa had left her at this point to her own devices for a short time, giving her a semblance of privacy.

Tonight, however, Anna felt incredibly weak. She was about to open the cavern of her mouth and ask her nurse to stay and assist her.

No words were necessary. Elsa knelt down beside the bathtub, took up the cloth that was there, and began to wipe down Anna's arms.

Anna exhaled as she relaxed against the tub and closed her eyes. Of course Elsa knew. The events of this day had somehow stitched the two of them irrevocably together, and at this particular moment Anna felt more intimately connected with her therapist than she had ever been with her husband.

Surely he had never seen her this low, this incredibly naked, and Anna didn't mean the absence of clothing. But then again, she had never allowed him this deep, past the skin and the blood vessels, past the very flesh itself. Yes, he had brushed against her soul, especially those moments when they made love together, but never had he approached the truth of her, the truth she had just uncovered under the army of her pain.

Perhaps they could have, had he survived the accident.

Sudden mourning for a future bereft of love gripped her heart in an iron fist covered in cruel thorns; Anna felt her pores open and bleed with her loss.

Oh, she would never love, or be loved again!

Tears filled her closed eyes. A sob collected in her throat. When she opened her eyes but a little, for the ache had grown too great to bear, those tears carved fresh tracks down her already eroded cheeks. Her arms were far too heavy to lift in order to wipe those tears away; besides, Elsa was still patiently washing them.

She heard Elsa's breath catch and quicken. "Sweetheart, are you in pain?" Elsa gently asked.

Anna had to see her. She somehow opened her eyes, and Elsa was there. Elsa was everywhere. Her face, so shadowed, as the candles flickered in the dark. Her eyes, still so anxious and caring. Her lips, drawn tight in empathy.

"Only of the heart," Anna dared whisper.

Then the cloth was upon her cheeks, a soft touch, like kittens, to witness and then absorb the evidence of Anna's grief. One hand wiped her tears away while the other hand held Anna's neck.

Elsa's tenderness in this moment was nearly too much to bear; it only highlighted the many years of lack.

What's more, having Elsa treat her so lovingly, so gently, drew far too close to the greatest sealed and buried secret of Anna's life. Just briefly the memories of tulips, of starlight, and of the smell of fresh earth came to her mind before Anna forced them away.

So Anna closed her eyes and let all the world pass away; she would forget her barren past, she would ignore her lost future, she would exist only in this moment, experiencing the devoted touch of her nurse, her Elsa. For it had become obvious to her that Elsa existed only for her; in this moment, and in many moments to come, her service would be absolute, her dedication total.

Elsa Wolff was like a bolt of lightning, bright and fierce, striking the earth with glory and power. She would shatter everything that had come before, and rearrange all that was to come.

There was time for this, because there was time for all good things.

After all the sweat and damp and tears had been washed away, Elsa wet down her hair and then worked in the shampoo. She gave Anna a long and lingering scalp massage, and Anna felt that she could have sunk into the very fiery depths of the earth so great was her heaviness and delight.

They did not speak. Words were unnecessary.

The water had become tepid by the time she was finished, and Elsa had rinsed off all remaining suds of soap or shampoo. The water drained away, and Elsa lifted her from the tub and wrapped her in a towel. In this still divine silence she helped Anna dry off, and then she wrapped her in a robe before lifting and carrying her back into her bedchamber, putting her in a chair before her dressing table instead of her bed.

In the reflection of the mirror, Anna saw Elsa reach for the comb and start to run it slowly through her damp hair. This was normally part of Gerda's job, but Anna was immensely glad that Elsa was doing it now instead. She wanted nothing to halt this blessed communion, this empathy bought with shared pain and tears.

Elsa didn't seem as confident or swift as Gerda, but her strokes were slow and filled with caring. Anna looked at her nurse in the mirror, and thought of horses and prairie grasses and how a younger Elsa must have brushed and curried the coats of stallions and mares and foals on her family farm. Soon the last tangles had been combed away and Elsa plaited her hair into the simple braid Anna used for sleeping.

Then she helped Anna into her underclothes, and then into a beautiful satin nightgown, and a lovely embroidered robe above it. Only then did she tuck Anna back into her bed, seated tall and regal against her headboard.

Only then did she finally speak again. "How is your pain now, m'lady?" Elsa asked as she smoothed the covers over Anna's legs and then stood at the foot of the bed, absently holding one of Anna's feet.

The relentless pricking of her nerves had already started again, and there was pressure at the base of her skull and at the base of her spine. But it remained only pressure, not exactly pain, and Anna told Elsa about all of it. She held nothing back, told no untruth by omission.

"If you are ready, your son has been most anxious to see you," Elsa said as she continued to hold Anna's foot. She did not rub it, nor massage it. She just held it, as if to do so provided comfort to her, and not just to Anna.

Anna looked at that steadfast hand that held her foot, and wished with all her heart that she could feel it. She wished with all her heart that she did not have to abide her son's presence just now. That she could just continue to appreciate this bubble in time and space that had been created by her pain, and by her therapist.

But she was a Dowager Baroness of Norway, and well she knew what that truly meant. The sacrificing of oneself for the better of others, especially those in her household. At this moment, she did not think only of her son and her immediate family, nor of the servants downstairs. She also thought of Elsa Wolff, who seemed to sway slightly back and forth in exhaustion, and who perhaps held Anna's foot in a last-ditch attempt to stay upright and conscious.

So as much as Anna wished this moment could persist, she accepted that it finally ended. "All right," she said. "He may come and see me if he wishes."

Elsa nodded and released Anna's foot, about to pass into the hallway to summon Lord Skaldenfoss. Anna suddenly leaned over and grabbed her nurse by the wrist. Surprised, Elsa turned to look at her, and then sat down on the edge of the bed at Anna's silent urging. Anna kept holding her hand. It was a lovely hand, and she would take this opportunity to hold it.

"May I continue to address you by your first name, Elsa?"

"My lady, nothing would bring me greater pleasure."

"And please, when in public you shall continue to address me as Lady Skaldenfoss, but when we're alone, I should very much prefer to be called Anna."

Sunrise momentarily brightened Elsa's weary face. "I should like that very much, Anna."

"You have served me very well today, Elsa. And I do not forget nor deny such service. Know that I am in your debt."

"Please do not speak of debt, Anna. It is my pleasure to serve you."

Anna heard the words that so many servants had said by rote and felt a touch exasperated. Would Elsa not even accept her gratitude? Would she not take this slim opportunity to transcend the roles that had been prescribed for them?

Oh, how Anna wanted to be let into the true ocean of Elsa's heart! All she could think to do was to be as open and vulnerable as she herself dared to be. Perhaps she could eviscerate all her walls, leave them bleeding and open, and only hope that her dear Elsa could do the same.

The words Elsa had once spoken to her continued to pulse and grow inside her heart, fuelled now by the sensation of Elsa pressing her cheek into Anna's hair. _My courage, I give to you, as I would give all good things to you._

"Then before you go to get Lord Skaldenfoss, please allow me to say this. I could not have handled the pain today without you. It would have defeated me. The laudanum failed me today, but you did not. Elsa Wolff, you did not fail me." Anna squeezed Elsa's hand, her fingertips in Elsa's palm. "Thank you."

Anna felt like she held a thousand images of Elsa in her mind and memory, but the most recent ones were fierce and glorious among them all; Elsa sitting at her bedside, calling her name and telling her to be strong; Elsa standing at the window with her hand rubbing her back and distant pain on her face; and this Elsa, right now, whose appearance was transcendent with service and love.

And distance. The edges of secrets she held inside her.

Did she even realize that Anna was aware of these secrets, these edges? And would the bounds of their relationship keep this knowledge from her forever?

Elsa opened her soft mouth and whispered, "You are most welcome, Anna Arendelle."

Anna finally nodded and released Elsa's hand. "Please let Lord Skaldenfoss know that I'm ready to receive him. And maybe Mrs. Henriksdotter could send up something light for dinner. Light, mind you. Soup and bread, or oatmeal and fruit. Nothing ostentatious. I'm almost astonished to discover that I am hungry."

With that said, Anna heard Elsa's own stomach growl, and she chuckled aloud. "And, my dearest girl, please take some food and rest. I'd dismiss you until tomorrow if I actually thought you would obey me, but you may check on me later if you must."

"How well you have come to know me, my lady," Elsa said, finally regaining some of her habitual cheer. "I'll come to see you in two hours, though please send for me if you would like me to come by sooner."

Elsa rose one last time and walked towards the door. Anna watched her every step, her heart hollowing.

The last moment, Elsa paused before the door. She looked at Anna, cast a final smile in her direction, and left the room.

What was this emptiness Anna now felt?

What was this grief?

…

Elsa completed her assignments first; she went to the small sitting room where the family usually sat following dinner. She had Kai pass along the message that she wished to see Lord Skaldenfoss. Once his lordship was standing with her in the hallway she told him that his mother was feeling better and wished to see him when he was available. Elsa also added that she would be sending up a tray for his mother's dinner. She was gratified to see Lord Skaldenfoss leave immediately for Anna's chambers.

Elsa next went downstairs to the servant's quarters, holding the bannister carefully for the trembling of her knees. She found Gerda in the servant's hall, mending one of Anna's shifts. She told Gerda that their lady wanted a tray for her dinner, and Gerda immediately went to the kitchens to arrange it.

Leaving Elsa to stand, wavering, by the table. "Sit down, Miss Wolff," Mr. Laarsen implored. The valet to Lord Skaldenfoss was reading a newspaper near the fire.

"Sit down before you fall down," Inga seconded, feeding their first-born son from her covered breast, there by the fire. She was seated in the chair next to her husband, Mr. Laarsen.

Love blazed between them, bright and strong and searing.

Perhaps Gerda had shared what had been transpiring upstairs all day, for no sooner had Elsa sat down at the table in the servant's hall than a kitchen maid appeared with a tray of tea. Elsa poured herself a cup, and simply held the warmth of it for a moment or two before deigning to sip. Not five minutes later Mrs. Henriksdotter came in with a dinner tray of soup and bread, butter and jam, and several kinds of cheese.

Their kind attention scorched her.

It had been so long since Elsa felt like she was part of a family; probably since she had left the monastery up in the mountains of India two and a half years ago. Her Master, the man she could most closely call a father, he had left India a year prior to her. He hadn't been there to soothe her after Catriona's death. But in letters, he had continued to teach her and advise her.

Elsa's heart twisted even now with the news she had received by telegram just three days ago. Her Master had been teaching at a hospital in London. And, not three days past, he had fallen and broken his hip.

He was not a young man. Elsa well knew that a broken hip could be a death sentence for a man his age. He would be nearly eighty years old, now.

Every hour that passed without a telegram was good news. Elsa entrusted his care to his God, and had turned all her own attention to her lady. He would want nothing less from her, and from her service.

But, oh, how he would chastise her if he could see her now, this cowardly, deceitful creature she had become!

The staff of Iskall Slott did not pester her with questions. Elsa ate her soup and bread while listening to the others talk, amid the low crackling of the fire. But by the time she had finished her dinner, her heart was aching with the weight and depth of her secrets. Oh, how greatly she was deceiving all of them!

Elsa slipped away as soon as she was able. Up the myriad stairwells, up to her private room in the attic of this castle.

Where, knowing the thinness of the walls, she cast herself upon her bed and dissolved into the softest, most piteous mourning imaginable.

Elsa knew the length and width of her time. She knew the gravity of each moment that passed.

Yet she spent no small amount of them in gulping, mewling, distressing cries, so similar to the earlier cries of her lady. For her lady was worthy of such grief, just as she was worthy of Elsa's most dedicated service.

And without the walls of Iskall Slott, across the darksome Northern Sea, the silver rain flashed with retreating forks of lightning, transmuting the sky into shades of charcoal and grey. With all daylight leached from the world, the night had taken definite hold, exerting its own special majesty, its own exquisite magnificence.

For without darkness there can be no light. They are the yin and yang, the seen and unseen, the black and the white.

They were Elsa, and her Anna.

One destined for darkness, and the other bound for the light.

…

Even before Johan came to her, Anna knew that she would not be able to abide his presence for very long. She well knew how he loved and regarded her, and how he needed her strong and steady presence, but ever since the accident there had been strangeness between them. Anna had had many hours to contemplate this strangeness.

It wasn't only due to his sudden and catastrophic elevation of status. Yes, his new duties had been difficult to adjust to, but he had been preparing to become Baron Skaldenfoss since his birth.

It could not only be the void of his father, the Hans-shaped hole in their lives. That would be part of it; the death of Leif some six years ago had only brought father and son closer together, as they sipped brandy in the smoking room after dinner and discussed economics and politics. Surely Johan missed the worldly, cosmopolitan man that he believed his father to be, just as he missed the earnest innocence of his younger brother.

No, the other part of this strangeness between them had to do with the feast of death that had been presented to her since the accident. Johan had passed through the war relatively unscathed, serving in the merchant fleet as part of Norway's non-combative stance in the war. He had been injured, he had lost companions, and he had stared death and madness in the face. But it is one thing to stare at death, and see it as apart from you, and quite another to recognize it as part of you, beating with quiet intensity right next to your heart.

In all the months since the accident, Anna had gorged on death. It was a decadent and rotten feast, and she had supped endlessly on it. Surgeries. Bedsores. Infection. Rehabilitation. It had been too much for her to manage, and she had gagged on it. Her death wish had been a cry for help, for release.

But she did not desire death any more.

In the wake of her greatest pain, in the startling truth that continued to pulse and shine inside her eternal soul, Anna knew she desired only life. Whatever life she could have. With grandchildren and the war widows fund, with hospital bazaars and managing the household of Iskall Slott. She would take whatever life she could get, even within the bounds of her wheelchair.

The tide had turned just this very day; Anna chose life.

Anna knew Elsa Wolff would help her achieve it.

And then, one day, Elsa's work would be done, and she would walk away.

The thought saddened her, and deepened her exhaustion.

Johan arrived, to sit on the chair next to her and ask her questions. Her dinner arrived, neatly arrayed on a tray. Anna ate the soup and bread that had been sent up and entertained her son, knowing she did all this for his sake alone and not for hers. She did not begrudge him this time together, nor did she judge his self-centeredness. He loved her, and he only wanted her to be happy and whole again.

And now he needed to be reassured. He had seen too much evidence in the past of her disdain for life, her willingness to set it aside in favour of the feast of death. He needed to be reminded that he was loved and valued.

So Anna spoke with him, and asked him questions about his day, and answered his own questions about her pain and Wolff's strange methods, and calmed him regarding Wolff's instruction that no one was to enter her bedchamber.

As the conversation continued, Anna wondered if Johan would ever love and value himself enough so that he would not require her special attention.

A thought pierced her, shivering flesh from bone.

Just how did Anna value herself? Did she not similarly require the attention and regard of others? Setting aside her immediate family, how much did she need Gerda? How much did she need Elsa?

Could she grow to only need herself?

And once so deeply anchored in her own identity and soul, could she not show others how simple, how wonderful it was to live and thrive from such a fertile place of abundance?

Surely this was the secret knowledge that Elsa Wolff had somehow obtained, that powered her service and her deepened her soul.

Anna's dear son sat next to her on the chair, talking about something or other, and was not aware that this thought was busily rearranging her perceptions, even here, even now.

Her soul was so dizzyingly deep, her thoughts infinitely precious, her memories like a universe. She wasn't just some noblewoman born to privilege and distinction and eventual loss, she was Anna Arendelle. She was the only Anna Arendelle. There would never be another woman like her in the history of the world.

Oh, how she wished she could be with Elsa just now, for Elsa had learned the pathways of quiet, the special tracks that led through meadow and forest to silent idylls of contemplative delights. Her son, bless his heart forever, had never had to traverse such paths. Death had but danced before his eyes, like a moth escaping gravity.

It was difficult to sit here and entertain him. She held a new revelation inside her; she caught it in her hands as she had once caught bright butterflies, chasing them across verdant fields in the generous greenery of England.

Oh, how glorious, how infinitely unique and priceless she was!

Their conversation faltered under the weight of this revelation that overtook her, this vast and resplendent butterfly.

Johan soon noticed her pauses, her stillness. He kissed her on the cheek and wished her a pleasant sleep, probably thinking that she was pained.

Oh, yes, there was pain, but it was not pain of the body.

It was the exquisite, soul-searing pain of this tremendous butterfly, this sudden and awe-inspiring realization of her own worth. It was celestial gravity; a precious sediment that connected her both to the earth and to the heavens above.

It was not enough just to realize her own divinity, or recognize the immortality of her essential nature.

It was also to recognize just how unique and glorious and magnificent she was.

She wished Elsa would come to her, and say her special words, and help her strengthen and deepen this bond with her own immortal soul!

But with Johan gone, Anna sat alone. When Gerda had arrived with her dinner, she had been forced to take the cloths from the lamp, and the warm ocean that had been her bedchamber lost its magic. Unable to eat any more, Anna rang for Gerda. Her maid came to take the tray away. When asked, Gerda reported that Elsa had eaten a little, and then she had gone up to her chambers for a rest. Anna thanked her and dismissed her.

After Gerda was gone, and Anna was alone once more, she sat and stared at the walls of her bedchamber and told herself not to summon her therapist. She told herself that Elsa deserved some time in peace, to replenish her seemingly endless reserves of stamina and courage. Anna knew that neither Johan, nor any other member of her family could have withstood watching those hours of her pain today. The courage to watch a loved one suffer was courage indeed.

Anna remembered Leif, and the stumps of his legs, the burns on his face and torso. And how he had spoken of kindness given by some unknown army nurse, the same nurse that had sewn up his arteries after the amputation, and whispered that she would send him home. It had been agony to watch him die of sepsis, but at least he had died here, and not in some trench in France.

Anna remembered Heidi, struggling to breathe. Her skin had been bright with fever, her eyes glassy. Anna and Ingrid had both been there, wishing they could just give her their own air; if only they could part the bones of their own rib cages, and give their beloved girl their own lungs! To hear that dread rattle in Heidi's throat, to wonder if each breath would be the last one; it had been agony.

So Anna knew this lesson, and she knew it well. To watch a loved one suffer, and be unable to do anything about it, was another sort of suffering indeed.

And Anna knew that she was loved. Elsa had said it, the words had been proclaimed aloud, and Elsa did not lie.

So Anna sat in her bed and looked out into her world, the windows now showing the thick blackness of a stormy night. As she turned her head to look at her room, she realized that she saw these mundane objects differently. Was there a universe inside every created thing, whether bedframe or robe, a singular cosmic vibration that sought to know its place in the cosmos? That sought to understand the purpose of its creation? That celebrated the singular beauty of its own existence?

The deep and determined pain of this day had brought Anna right up to the veils of this other world, this invisible world that coexisted with her own. And it was a world made of beauty and delight, for all it was given texture and shadow and depth with darkness and with pain.

Anna sat, and looked absently out of the window, and allowed herself to sink into this strange moment of clarity and understanding. Yet a secret part of her wished that Elsa were here to share it with her, to provide the inexplicable illumination she had learned among the mountain passes, in the silence of ancient temples, and upon the smoky incense burned as an offering in far monasteries.

…

Time passed in stuttering spurts. Anna began to wonder if Elsa would return at all. Had she been too exhausted by the events of the day? Just as Anna was telling herself yet again not to ring for her, there came a light knock on the door. "Come in," she softly called, already knowing that it was Elsa on the other side of the door, for her nurse was the only one who waited for permission to enter.

Elsa came into the room, and Anna looked at her with keen eyes. Her therapist had scrubbed her face and had changed dresses. But it seemed as if the events of the day really had sapped all her energy, for it was a slow and heavy step that brought her into the room and back to Anna's side.

Anna waited until Elsa sat down on the chair by the edge of the bed before asking, "How do you fare, Elsa?"

Elsa gave her a warm smile, though her eyes were dark and full of untold emotion. They looked rubbed, and raw. Had she been crying? "Shouldn't I be asking you the same question, my lady?"

"I can see your tiredness, my dear," Anna said. "You will not have to suffer my presence long this night."

"I never suffer your presence," Elsa replied, her voice quite firm, though that beloved sparkle had not yet returned to her eyes.

"That's what you're supposed to say," Anna replied. "Elsa, I must know something. I've told myself to stop being so curious about you, but something incredible happened today. What I experienced, the pain I felt, the mental technique you used to free me of it… I said something earlier. I said that you have known pain like this. I said it, and I somehow know it is true despite you never admitting anything of it."

Elsa reached for a bottle of scented oil she kept on the bedside table. She hesitated only slightly when she heard Anna's words. "Yes, it is true, Anna."

"You are aware of the invisible world, aren't you?"

"I have experienced it three times in my life, my lady." She paused, even as she reached for Anna's hand. Anna readily gave it, and waited for Elsa to speak. "It seems to be my unique and awful fate to succumb to physical pain. Again, and again, and again." There was the slightest hint of bitterness to her words. They felt awful coming from her steadfast tongue.

For the first time since meeting Elsa Wolff, Anna realized that this woman was just a woman. Not some paragon of virtue or a saint.

It only made her more attractive in Anna's eyes. Elsa was not some _star_ come from the heavens. She was just a woman.

She was still one of the most amazing women Anna had ever met in her life. No one else could have brought Anna through the great field of her pain.

"Can you speak of it at all?" Anna tried to shade her increasingly bright curiosity with a soft question.

Elsa put some of the oil on Anna's hands and began to work it in. "I have been dreadfully injured three times in my life. Once in my youth, once in my twenties, and finally… in 1918."

Anna felt struck by that dread date. That was the year Leif had been so badly injured in France. That was the year both he and Heidi died.

That was the year she cursed God.

Elsa slowly continued, "It's still hard to speak of, my lady."

"Of course I am curious, Elsa," Anna replied, "but I do not want you to be uncomfortable. Not after a day like today. Just know that I am here for you as well, and that you may speak of your experiences, should you wish."

Was that sadness or regret on Elsa's face? Anna couldn't quite fathom it. "Thank you, Anna," Elsa replied. "That means more to me than you know. However, it has been a difficult day for both of us, so I would choose not to relive those memories just now, an it please you."

Anna felt a brief flare of disappointment, easily managed. "That's all right, Elsa. Yes, it has been a difficult day. Thank you for helping me cope with it." Then, her courage in her teeth, Anna added, "Besides, we have time for conversations like this. There is time for all good things."

Elsa _stopped_.

She had been looking at Anna's hand as she worked, but now she lifted her gaze to look at Anna's face.

An unbelievable torment and despair was discreetly written upon her features; the Anna of a day ago would not have been able to recognize it nor name it. This Anna, the one who had tiptoed into the invisible world only to tiptoe out again, recognized it all too well.

"So my Master taught," Elsa whispered, merely holding Anna's hand. Her fingers were slick and warm and immensely comforting. "I don't always find it to be so. Anna, my dear, are you humouring me? Or is this something you have truly come to believe?"

"Humans are complex creatures," Anna whispered in return. "Belief waxes and wanes like the sight of the moon, but that does not discount the moon's utter existence. Elsa, you and I don't need to believe in this statement for it to be true."

Never in her life had Anna seen anyone look at her in quite the same way as Elsa did now. For the past month Elsa had been her mentor, her teacher, her _saviour_.

But in this moment, the roles had reversed. The teacher to become the student.

"Anna, I…" Elsa began to say, still only holding her hand, not working any longer. Then she closed her mouth and furrowed her brow. She spoke as if she would reveal something, if only given space and time.

Space and time Anna would be only too glad to give. If it were a key, let it open the lock!

The silence between them vibrated with gravity and promise. Anna's heart unfurled like the sails of a ship waiting for a breeze.

There was a knock on the door.

Elsa, surprised, released Anna's hand. It fell to the coverlet, still streaked with attention and oil.

Gerda came in, bearing a telegram on a tray.

Anna immediately glanced at the clock; it was just past ten o'clock at night. Whatever news this was, it wouldn't be good. A fist of fear closed over her heart as she looked at her maid; was it Ingrid? Grandmamma?

"My deepest apologies for disturbing you, my lady," Gerda said as she came into the room. "But an urgent telegram has just arrived for Miss Wolff."

Her eyes wide in shock, Anna watched as Gerda handed Elsa the telegram.

There was surprise on Elsa's face, but not overly much. Whatever was within this telegram, it was almost expected.

"Thank you, Gerda," Anna said in dismissal. Gerda bobbed her head and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Leaving Anna to watch helplessly as despair brutally slammed into her therapist's gentle features. Elsa read the paper several times before setting it aside. Then she closed her eyes, crumpled the paper with her fist, and cast her face up to the ceiling, as if in supplication to a distant and disdainful god.

Oh, what news could possibly be therein?

"Elsa, what is it?" Anna couldn't help but ask. She wanted to touch her, and comfort her, but daren't.

Elsa's head swivelled down, and Anna noticed how beautifully slender her neck was, how the skin rippled as she swallowed.

Then their eyes met, and devastation was within those wounded orbs. Anna's heart clenched for Elsa's obvious pain. "My lady, I received word three days ago that my Master had suffered a bad fall, breaking his hip. He is nearly eighty years old, and would not recover easily. I meditated for him…" Her voice broke as she spoke, and Anna's heart broke as well, especially for the words that continued to trickle over Elsa's tongue. "Apparently he developed an infection, and this morning he went into septic shock."

Anna thought of Mother Magda standing by Leif's bedside, and telling her what septic shock was, and why it was a death sentence for her beloved son.

It took a lot of effort to skirt the morass of those memories. Anna looked only at Elsa and said, "I know what septic shock is. Please continue."

"He knows that this is the end. He has asked me to come to him. I am the only one of his disciples nearby. The rest are still in India."

Anna was impaled by the fact that she still knew so little about Elsa. She had heard of this Master several times, but had no other knowledge of him. "Where does your Master live?" she asked.

"In London, my lady. He was teaching at a hospital there."

London. There was time. Barely.

Anna straightened her spine and spoke the words that a lady must. "Then you must go to him. Without delay."

Elsa had been staring at the crumpled ball of thick paper in her hand, but at Anna's words, she lifted her face. Her eyes were reddened, her expression both hopeful and concerned. "My lady?" she asked.

Anna's mind was whirling. She had made the trip to London from Oslo many times, first to visit her mother's family, and then to go to boarding school. She and Hans had not visited the city very often in the years since, but the journey itself wouldn't have changed overly much.

Elsa's need momentarily resurrected the Baroness she had once been. Sudden strength and vitality flooded all of Anna's organs, and lent fire to her mind.

A Baroness knew how to make decisions.

And, once the decision had been made, a Baroness knew how to accept the consequences of it.

"I believe there will be a boat leaving Oslo at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. The milk train will not be fast enough to get you there on time. I will summon Kristoff and ask him to drive you the entire way to Oslo. If he is not tired, he should be able to make the journey by dawn. From Oslo you will find passage to London. If the sea is mild, the journey will take two days. If the sea is ornery, the passage may take an extra day. If you wish, you may go downstairs at this moment and use Kai's telephone to make some arrangements with the ocean liner."

Elsa's eyes grew wide as Anna spoke; she tilted her head and looked at Anna as if she had never quite seen her before.

Her neck was like a swan's neck; graceful and long. Her face was filled with a complex mix of anxiety and hope.

And then she said something Anna did not really understand. "Today is September 30," Elsa whispered, as if only to herself. "I do not want to leave you, my lady."

Anna was initially confused. Yes, that was today's date.

But the remainder of Elsa's words were soft, yet they were dread mangonels against Anna's fragile defences. She didn't want Elsa to leave, either. Not now. Not after the experience they had shared. Not when Elsa had seemed so close to opening her heart!

But again she spoke as she must, as a Baroness. Earlier today she had taken Elsa's fire, and put it inside her. It was still there, steadily burning. It would sustain her throughout Elsa's absence. It would have to.

"My dear girl, he is important to you. I understand this. You must go, and without delay. How long do you think you will be gone?"

"The journey will take two to three days, you say? I've never gone to London from here."

"Two days with good connections by boat and train, and with good weather across the sea. Three days at most without."

Elsa furrowed her brow in thought and worry. "Septic shock. He won't linger. In fact, I'll be lucky to get there in time. Even so, the earliest I could return is in seven days. There will be a cremation, I think."

Anna's heart twisted at the thought of a roaring fire that would consume flesh, and reduce it to ashes and dust, but her thoughts were interrupted as she looked at the resulting agony of Elsa's own features.

For writhe and twist her dear face did, in a strange and melancholy agony that Anna couldn't quite understand. Once again her nurse closed her eyes and lifted her face to the ceiling and wall. Was it only grief for her dying master?

No. It wasn't.

Anna took a breath, just as Elsa had been teaching her this entire month. She took a breath, and the world stabilized, and she _saw_. She looked at Elsa as Elsa had so often looked at her, with that especial awareness, that keen understanding, and she _knew_.

Anna knew that much of the length and breadth of this current pain was all for her.

Not for Elsa's dying Master. For Anna Arendelle.

And she marvelled. How did Elsa come to feel so strongly for her? What did Elsa fear would happen while she was gone?

In another heartbeat that maligned agony was gone from her features, though a pale ghost of it remained, and Elsa took a deep breath. Then she turned the full strong lens of her attention upon her lady. "I fear for you, Anna," Elsa whispered.

Oh, yes, there was fear there, in the crags and crevasses that her voice broke upon; just what exactly did she fear?

Anna thought she knew.

For the love she now bore for this woman, for the key that she had polished in her mental hands that had opened her own heart, Anna reached out and took Elsa's hand. Elsa's eyes snagged upon hers. "My dear one, I will be all right," Anna said. "I no longer desire the endless sea."

Elsa's eyes became even more focused and sharp. "The endless sea?" she softly repeated.

"I wonder if everyone thinks of death a certain way," Anna said slowly, sharing this thought for the first time aloud. It tasted strange on her tongue; a mix of nectar and vinegar. "For me, it has always been passage over an endless sea.

"Elsa, hear me, and hear me well. When you came to me, my ship was sinking. I made no attempt to stop it; in fact, I wanted to be cast into the depths. To sink with the ship like those sea captains of old, and be entombed in icy cold water forever.

"But you saved me. Somehow you took this battered ship of my body and began to renew it. Your efforts were like wind in my sails, bringing me back to shore, and to life.

"The endless sea no longer knows my name, Elsa. Not like when you first arrived. Do not worry for me, my dear one. You have closed that port permanently, and I thank you for it."

Elsa lightly squeezed the hand in hers. Her eyes were still worried, still wounded. Oh, how Anna ached for her and her incipient loss!

"I will miss you, of course I will miss you so very much, but I will be here when you return," Anna continued saying.

And then her voice tore in her throat as she dared to utter the only worry that truly plagued her. "Just do return, please, Elsa. Come back to me."

"Oh Anna, sweetheart, of course I'll come back to you," Elsa replied, her voice as soft and fragile as the wings of baby birds destined to plummet or fly.

Then she sat there a moment longer, misery and indecision on her lovely face.

There was no indecision on Anna's part. Now that she knew Elsa would be absent from her life, for at least seven days but probably longer, she did not hide what she wanted most. This moment would have to provide her sustenance for many lonely hours of probable pain.

The love she had discovered earlier this day for her therapist erupted into an undeniable need to hold her, to comfort her, and to be held and comforted.

So Anna tugged on that hand and pulled Elsa into an embrace. Elsa's arms went gladly, gratefully tight around her back, one high on her shoulder, the other near her waist. Anna also wrapped her own arms around Elsa's curvy body, nearly mirroring Elsa's own touch; one hand was near Elsa's neck, the other was on her waist.

And Anna felt for herself the singular joy of a long and generous hug, the distinctness of Elsa's breasts pressed against her own, the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the strength of the arms that held her. They held each other far longer than typically accustomed, as they grew used to the fact of their imminent separation.

There was a minute trembling in Elsa's limbs that made Anna want to weep. That made her want to just somehow hold on to her forever.

Anna had to prolong this moment, so she reached up with one hand to grasp the nape of Elsa's neck. She stroked it several times, and felt an answering shudder cascade through Elsa's body. Elsa abruptly hugged her even tighter, and tucked her head by Anna's shoulder. "Oh, Anna," she whispered, right into Anna's skin.

"Everything will be all right," Anna whispered. "Go to him. Be with him. And come back to me."

Elsa finally pulled away. Her eyes were still so lustrous and dark, and she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. "Please take care of yourself, honey," she said, an aching throb of emotion in her voice, and somehow it was not for her dying Master, those tears would come in due course, but now it was all for Anna. Just Anna. "I'll come back to you as soon as I can."

"I know you will," Anna replied, her heart already desolate for Elsa's absence.

...

Author's Note: It is September, and my job as an English teacher has truly resumed. I will not be able to update every week as previously. But this story is important to me, and it is important to share with you, so I will update as often as possible.

If you've liked what you've read, please review. - Jen


	10. Chapter 10 - Awry

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but the teaching schedule this September has been crazy! Here's a nice long update for you, I hope you enjoy it! Believe me, some very good things are coming up in the next few chapters...

 **Chapter Ten – Awry**

And that was the last that Anna saw of her nurse for the next ten days. Ten days that felt infinitely longer, time stuttering along the broken slags and heaps of her ruined routine. At Anna's insistence, Elsa had packed her bags and left around midnight with Kristoff, who drove her all the way to Oslo to catch the boat to London. That was all he was able to report when he returned to Iskall Slott by midafternoon the next day.

Anna had slept poorly that first night; she was more anxious that she had let on. Not simply in sympathy for Elsa's impending loss, but also for Elsa's absence from her life. She was nervous to be without the singularly unique services that Elsa had provided to ease Anna's pain and rehabilitate her injured back and legs. Those beautiful adjustments, the many massages, the aromatherapy sessions, the exercises for her wasted legs, the spontaneous moments of poetry and drawing and painting, the special desserts and coffee; Elsa had not only taken away Anna's pain, but she had filled Anna's life with rediscovered beauty and joy.

Both Lily and Johan came to visit her as she ate her breakfast that morning. She felt irritable and out of sorts, yet she tried to retain her good humour for their sake. She nibbled her toast and disdained the eggs entirely, yet spooned a bit of caviar onto her toast.

Apparently Lily had had to convince Johan that it was imperative for Wolff to leave, to take this time off to see her dying Master. He came to Anna's bedchamber with faint but distinct worry on his features. For his part, he had seen his mother improve in leaps and bounds over the last month of Wolff's persistent and highly unorthodox care, and he hoped and prayed that all her progress wouldn't stop completely while Wolff was away. Or, even worse, that her mood would once again blacken and her willpower fade.

Part of their conversation that morning concerned a temporary replacement for Elsa Wolff. Anna wished that she required no replacement; she wanted no other person to enter her room or her life. However, it was too much to hope that she would withstand Elsa's absence without any assistance. Pain would come. It always did. On a more practical side, she needed assistance daily with bathing and dressing, and these activities were outside the scope of Gerda's services.

After her son and his wife had left her, Anna sat in her bed and stared at the walls. Normally Elsa would be here just now, discussing the schedule of the day with Anna and Gerda, and beginning the morning rehabilitation.

So when Gerda came to take away her breakfast tray, she found Anna sitting up in her bed, stretching and limbering her back and arms. Gerda helped her into her 'training gear' and Anna performed leg extensions by grasping the hem of her pants and moving her legs and knees about.

While she congratulated herself on showing initiative, she already missed Elsa greatly.

That first day passed very slowly.

Lily was dispatched to the hospital in Larvik to chat with Mother Magda, and came back to Iskall Slott with a thin, smiling, older woman named Mother Marte. Anna approved of the choice: Mother Marte was now retired from nursing, and lived on a small pension in the village. Mother Marte hadn't the stamina to serve as Anna's nurse full time, but this temporary posting would suit her. She was not qualified to administer laudanum, but she could do almost everything else Anna would require. Anna was already acquainted with her, having been part of this community for so many years.

Anna managed to go downstairs for family tea that afternoon, spending time with her grandchildren and her daughters-in-law. She stayed with them for nearly two hours before her head began to ache, so she retreated back upstairs. Mother Marte closed the shutters, Anna took a powder for her headache, dismissed her nurse, and then she applied some of Elsa's ointment to her temples before trying to breathe through her pain.

By the end of that first day, Anna was viciously reminded of just how much time she had been spending in the company of her therapist. She had whole acres of empty time now, great fields of it filled with desiccated husks of autumn grass, the soil grey and arid. Time Anna scarcely knew how to deal with; how could she reap a proper harvest from such infertility?

She had a surprise visit from both her daughters-in-law that evening, late at night, after dinner. They were still dressed in their evening gowns, and entered her room as if girded for battle. Lily didn't waste time before suggesting that it was time Ingrid came for a visit, bringing the baby with her. Her husband might not be able to come from Oslo, but Ingrid could certainly leave the city to spend some time with family.

Anna wasn't sure. Of course it would be lovely to see her only daughter again, but she feared to do too much and awaken pain that she could not then pacify, even with assistance.

Helene championed the idea. "She's family, Anna," she said in her pleasant French lilt. "That means that you could ask her to leave you in peace whenever necessary. She would not need to be entertained, not like other guests. And should you require rest, she would not take offense."

Anna lifted her hands in surrender. "All right, ladies, you've convinced me. Lily, you'll issue the invitation?"

Lily nodded, smiling broadly in pleasure. They said their farewells, but then Helene paused by the door. "Anna, you look pale and ill at ease. Is there anything wrong?"

"Nothing that either of you can fix."

A pause. Then.

"You miss her already, don't you?"

No one needed to clarify of whom Helene was speaking. The emptiness in this room was palpable. "Yes," Anna simply replied. "Miss Wolff has been a tremendous help. More than any of you can understand."

"You've spent so much time in her company," Helene went on to say, "that we worried for this empty space in your life. Loneliness… can be devastating, Anna. I did not want that for you. _We_ do not want it. We are here for you. Say the word, and we will come."

A lump of wax gathered in Anna's throat. She could not respond. She daren't acknowledge the loneliness, for it would only consume her greater.

Helene seemed to have one last thing to say. "You've improved so much in the last month, _ma mere._ This August… we worried for you."

Lily nodded her head in agreement.

Unspoken was Anna's death wish, though the ghost of it haunted the air between them. "I know you did, darlings," Anna managed to say, speaking over that great wax in her throat. She wanted to say something more, but didn't know what to say.

A note of silence.

"Right, then," Lily said. "I'll contact Ingrid and have her rearrange whatever plans she might have made for this week so she can come for a visit. It will be so good to have the children all together." Her voice then softened as she said, "I hope you sleep well, Anna. And Mother Marte is here, should you need her."

 _She couldn't ever be the same_ , Anna thought to herself. Aloud, she said, "Thank you, Lily. Good night, my girls."

They left her to her empty bedchamber, and to the empty hours of night, and to the ravages of her misfiring nerves that spat occasional venom down her legs and into her feet.

Lily must have been persuasive, for Ingrid agreed that it was time for a visit; the baby was old enough to travel by train, and it would be good to have the family together. Her husband wouldn't be able to join them until Friday, but then he would also come down. Anna had a very quiet day, reserving her strength and energy for the upcoming visit with her family. There was pressure at the base of her spine, and her muscles felt stiff and sore. Mother Marte drew her a hot bath, and Anna looked longingly at the empty massage table. She had spent so many hours upon it, with Elsa's warm and firm touch eroding the fanged teeth of her pain.

So the second day without Elsa passed.

The third day dawned, and Anna's mind was often on her nurse. She had hoped to hear from her by now, for even ships had telegraphs, and Anna wished to know how Elsa fared on her journey. Why hadn't she insisted on some form of communication during this absence? Not knowing felt awful; she found herself gnawing at these thoughts many times during the day, as a dog worries a bone.

When the sensation of pins and needles in her legs was about to drive her mad, Anna grasped the hems of her light pants and did leg extensions in her bed, just as Elsa had taught her. Later, when her back ached and ached, she had Mother Marte bring her a hot water bladder. That evening she took a bath as piping hot as she could withstand.

It was that evening, after her bath, that Anna received a telegram from Elsa. She eagerly tore it open and read the contents.

 _Arrived safe in London. Stop. My master is lingering. Stop. Will send more news when I have it. Stop. Hope you are well. Stop. Yours, Elsa Wolff._

Lingering. There was grief and pain in that word. Its very essence evoked a sense of tar, black and shiny and pungent, tar being pulled through collapsing veins, tar drenched in expanding pools of bright red blood.

Leif had lingered. He had been so young, so strong, once.

At least Heidi had died fast, in only three days. Anna had not considered it a blessing at the time. Leif lingered for nearly two weeks in ever-spiralling infection, experiencing strange bouts of madness interspersed with lucidity, his pregnant bride always at his side.

Anna set aside the telegram and closed her eyes. Another would come, in a day or two, with more dire news yet.

And though she was not a religious person, Anna concentrated on the beautiful summery field of her divine consciousness, and mentally broadcast its peace and decadence to the woman who had saved her life, in the hopes that it would somehow pass the many miles that were between them, and come upon her in warmth and fondness, and provide Elsa with strength for her grief and imminent loss.

Day four, a Wednesday, and in the late afternoon Ingrid arrived with her lady's maid, her nanny, and her ten-month old daughter, Heidi. They had known of Ingrid's scheduled arrival time, so Anna had come down later than usual for tea. Even sitting on the couch, she couldn't bear to spend more than several hours at a time in the company of others. It took so much effort to keep her face and body from showing the chronic pain she was in.

Elsa had been doing pelvic and spinal adjustments every day. Now that she was gone, Anna already felt misaligned. When she had asked if Mother Marte knew anything about these special techniques, the nurse had admitted to complete ignorance (and a measure of scepticism). It only highlighted how talented and uncanny Elsa was, and Anna didn't dare ask Mother Marte to start experimenting on Anna now.

At least Elsa's constant work on her knees had caused the tendons and ligaments to elongate; Anna could now fully extend her legs, which meant she handled sitting so much better.

Elsa had accomplished so much for Anna in only a month. Could walking again truly be in Anna's future?

Anna's thoughts were interrupted as Kai came in to tell them that their guests had arrived. Anna immediately steeled herself to see her daughter as Ingrid and not as her dead identical twin, Heidi. Six years had gone by since Heidi had passed away, yet Anna still saw her inside her other daughter.

Oh, how her girls had gone through stages of trying to look like each other and confuse their nannies and parents, and then they had done the complete opposite, trying to be unique and distinct from each other.

Ingrid had ignored every doctor's attempt at isolation during the Spanish Flu, and helped nurse her twin sister through the fevers, the nose bleeds, and the final coughing fits that eventually stole her breath forever. Both she and Anna had been in the room when Heidi finally died.

Heidi died knowing she was loved. They had that, at least. They had been together. They had known the end was coming, though three days was little enough time to reconcile oneself with the spectre of death. Would it have been any easier had it been months instead of days?

Probably not.

Anna's steadfast heart twinged yet again for Elsa and for the loss of her Master. Days alone she would have, with this man who had helped to shape much of her inner character. The man who had become her surrogate father.

Of course her thoughts had turned to Elsa. She missed her therapist so much!

Ingrid came into the room, and Anna smiled in delight and appreciation of her daughter's beauty. Yes, there would always be a twinge of Heidi in her features, but that was also a beloved sort of sediment, tying the twins together.

Anna wished she could stand and embrace her daughter. Ingrid brushed past everyone else to sit on the couch next to her and wrap her in her arms and kiss her cheeks. "Dear mamma," she said quietly, for Anna's ears alone, "I'm so very glad to see you."

Then Ingrid pulled away and smiled for the company, saying in a louder tone, "You are looking so well, mamma!"

"Thank you, my darling," Anna replied. "You're looking marvellous yourself." It was true; her daughter hadn't shed all of the baby weight, so she looked incredibly matronly and warm. Ingrid rose to greet her sisters-in-law, also ensuring that the nanny deposited ten-month-old Heidi on Anna's lap. Anna gladly took her squirming grand-daughter and shut away all thoughts of Hans and trains and frozen snow gleaming with drops of bright red blood.

The rest of the grandchildren came down from the nursery, and for the next two hours Anna was completely surrounded by her family. Johan finished his business in the village, and kissed his sister's cheek when he arrived. Everyone sat on the couches around the fire, passing around babies and watched as the older children played with wooden trains and other toys brought down for their amusement. Anna wished she could stay with them forever, for she felt completely encircled by family, by warmth and love and the telling of tales, both true and tall, that went back into childhood.

But Anna's perpetual headache gradually worsened, and pain began to radiate out from her pelvis, even sitting as comfortably as she could on the couch. So when the grandchildren began to fuss, and the nannies arrived to take them away, Anna bade her family farewell and had Johan carry her back up to her room.

Where she would not call for Mother Marte. She sat there alone and used every trick Elsa had ever taught her; cool towels, ointment, basil-scented water. Oh, if only she had Elsa's hands!

For now, however, she tried to stay calm, to ride the tide of her pain, not simply fight it away. She breathed, and she waited, and the tide rose, and then fell.

Late afternoon the next day, a Thursday, just as she was deciding whether or not to dress for dinner, Gerda came again with the telegram in her hands.

Anna was less eager to open it, for she guessed at its contents.

And she was right.

Again, the note was brief and heartbreaking. The end had finally come. Elsa's Master had died just before noon this day. The crematory vigil would take place the following day. "I begin my journey back to Norway on Sunday," Elsa wrote.

Anna read the immensity of Elsa's grief in the white spaces between her words.

So she held the telegram close to her heart for just a moment, wondering if her energy and affection could possibly transcend space and time, to land with softness and devotion upon Elsa's head. She sent yet another wish into the grey skies above her castle, to speed across the heaving sea, that Elsa would be comforted in her grief, and would return home safely.

Anna had not forgotten the story of Elsa's family, and how they had been lost at sea, as so many others had similarly perished over millennia. Surely Elsa must have a safe journey home, and not merit the same fate!

Anna dictated a reply to Gerda, a short note that would hopefully express all of Anna's thoughts and prayers.

The next day passed slowly. Anna spent as much time as she could with Ingrid, and even had tea with all three of her 'daughters'. Ingrid and Helene didn't always agree; there was some tension there that Anna didn't understand, but she didn't make it her business, either. They were cordial enough to each other while part of a company.

It was just after tea on Friday that Anna once again realized how far she had come. After her daughters had left, Anna looked down at her legs, now able to extend straight from her body. They had been in traction for so long, and Anna had despaired of there ever being a day where she could turn from side to side of her own volition. And though it wasn't all due to Elsa, most of it was definitely due to her and her unique treatments.

Treatments that Anna desperately wished to have only the next day.

On Saturday afternoon, Johan slipped on a toy that had been hidden under the couch while setting Anna down. He fell to his knees, and she landed half on the couch before falling off to strike the floor. She couldn't feel the tangled mess of her legs, but she could most definitely feel the triumphant yowl of her pelvis and spine, as well as a deep wrench to her hip. Anna cried out before biting back the cry, holding the rest of it between her teeth as she tried to use her arms to push herself off the floor. Lily was there in an instant to help her, while Johan berated any maid or nanny in reach of his voice for leaving a toy out and about as he stood up and brushed off his trousers and rubbed his knees.

Anna was helped up on to the couch. Her jaw was clamped shut as pain writhed and bent through her. "Just give me a minute," she hissed when they all hovered around her. She tried to stretch her legs, to align that horrifying wrench in her pelvis, but there was no help for it. The twinge from her hips and pelvis was insanely deep, like meat hooks snagged in the depths of her buttocks that pulled all the way up her spine. Johan seemed about to launch into another condemnation of the maids when Anna said, "Please stop, Johan. What's done is done. Let it go."

There was strained silence for a moment or two. In the distance, she could hear Kai abruptly stop berating the maids in charge of cleaning the room.

"What do you need, mamma?" Ingrid asked a few minutes later. Her husband, Tomas, was standing next to her, having arrived from Oslo late the previous night.

 _I need Elsa_ , Anna mentally despaired.

She was taken back up to her room. Mother Marte was there, to help undress her and look at the damage. And two hours later Mother Magda came from the hospital in Larvik to attend to her and administer a dose of laudanum. Mother Marte had tried everything else, and nothing had worked. Bruises were forming on Anna's knees, and another large one was upon her one hip she had landed on, and her pelvis and hips were still wrenched and awry.

Mother Magda clucked over those bruises, asked Anna a few questions about the pain, and prepared the dose of laudanum. Anna gladly sipped it down. Then she used her hands to pull her knees closer to her chest and waited for the downy mouth of the opiate to swallow her. Thank the gods it worked this time, and she felt it quite rapidly take hold of her. Soon she was only peripherally aware of Mother Magda checking her pulse, and then everyone left the room.

Anna hadn't wanted her to stay. She didn't have that inner pool of stillness that Anna so craved. Mother Magda was warm and incredibly competent, but she was also thin and restless as well.

A few hours later, Anna was just rising from the depths of opiate induced sleep when she heard Mother Magda come into the room. Lily was with her; Anna heard their whispered conversation, "What Miss Wolff has accomplished in such a short time is miraculous," Mother Magda said. "I worried for Lady Skaldenfoss."

"We all worried for her," Lily whispered back. "Thank you for helping me find Miss Wolff."

"When is she back from London?"

"She leaves on Sunday, and should be here Tuesday evening."

"That's good to hear. Lady Skaldenfoss still needs her."

Anna didn't want to hear any more; she stretched in her bed and inhaled, and the quiet conversation stopped entirely. Lily left the room, and Mother Magda stayed to conduct the post-laudanum examination. Anna couldn't suffer her presence, nor anyone's. As soon as Mother Magda was sure that Anna had passed through the painkiller safely, Anna dismissed her.

Anna was thoughtful and quiet the remainder of the evening, spending it alone.

For it was becoming obvious to Anna as well that there was only one person's company she craved, and it would be days yet before that sweet presence would return.

The thought made her feel quite wretched; not only for missing Elsa, but also for allowing herself to care so deeply for someone who would only leave her someday.

 _Lady Skaldenfoss still needs her_.

Yes, she did. But would the death of Elsa's Master be a passage into a new life? When Elsa returned, how long would she stay? Anna had enjoyed the services of a talented young nurse while still in Oslo, the only person who came close to Elsa in style and temperament. Within two weeks she had been hired out to a hospital in Trondheim. Would Elsa stay long enough to see Anna healed? How deep was their bond? After a month together Anna felt quite connected to her therapist, but did Elsa feel the same? Was their relationship doomed only to be that of lady and nurse?

Maybe it was. Perhaps Anna had to get used to the fact that Elsa saw her only as her charge. That Elsa would leave her should a better opportunity arise. At the latest, Elsa would leave once Anna was healed, whether or not that included being able to walk.

Besides, what else could there be? Once Anna was healed, there would be no place in her life for someone like Elsa, no matter how much she might wish it.

Her thoughts as restless and dark as the midnight sea, Anna finally slipped into a troubled sleep.

…

Sunday came, and Anna stayed in her room the whole day. The hip she had fallen on still felt horribly wrenched out of place, the bruises like thunderclouds under her skin. Missing Elsa's company more than ever, she asked her family members to come visit her for short bouts throughout the day. Helene was even kind enough to just sit and read from a book of poetry while Anna held the sheets in her hands and tried to breathe through her pain.

Throughout the day, Anna wondered where Elsa was on her journey back to Norway. Had she left London yet? How was the weather out there on the sea?

And then it was Monday, and Anna forced herself to dress for breakfast. It was to be an elaborate affair, as a farewell for Ingrid and Tomas and baby Heidi. After Anna had been carried down to the breakfast table, she saw there a veritable feast of food that everyone had enjoyed as children; the fruits had faces cut into them, the thin pancakes were made into animal shapes, and the caviar on the crackers had smiley faces.

Anna smiled as she ate with her adult children; Johan and Ingrid were in paroxysms of delight over the meal, for this was something that Anna had ordered twice or three times a year as they were growing up. Hans had hated it each and every time, but Anna well knew how magic could be formed from the most humble offerings.

She hadn't ordered this feast, however, and by the surprised delight on her children's faces, neither had they. She stared at her family members until she thought she recognized the culprit: Helene sat there with a contented smile on her face.

How thoughtful of the foreign young woman, to provide something so whimsical and youthful for their last meal together as a family. Anna often forgot that Helene came from much humbler surroundings, as the third daughter of a tenant farmer near Reims. Helene must have made her own requests, for there were fresh buttery croissants among the breakfast offerings, which she made much of and obviously enjoyed.

Everything was delicious, and the company was so light-hearted and free, that Anna forgot she was in pain. It was only after she had hugged Ingrid from her wheelchair, cuddled little Heidi, and allowed Tomas to kiss her on the cheeks that she realized she was on the edge of exhaustion.

Still, she was wheeled out to the entranceway of Iskall Slott so she could wave goodbye to the company. Only then did she have Johan carry her back up to her chambers where she passed into a deep and pain-filled sleep.

When she woke in the mid-afternoon, still wretched with pain from her hip, her head still clanging like old church bells, she forced back her tears and visualized Elsa's journey instead. Mother Marte brought her a powder for her headache, and Anna looked out on the slate blue waves and thought of Elsa upon them.

Anna was delighted that evening to receive a telegram. Elsa had written to report that the seas were mild, and that the ship was scheduled to arrive in Oslo early on Tuesday morning. There was a train that should bring her to Larvik by 2 pm, and the following, should she miss it, would arrive at 4 pm.

Gladness filled Anna's heart. She held that telegram close to her breast and closed her eyes, breathing out a silent prayer of relief. Elsa was so close; surely she would make the rest of her journey in safety!

Anna had a restless night Monday night, and her dreams were strange and vivid. Hans appeared in them again and again, until she woke with a sense of guilt that, deep down, she recognized. She had never craved his presence like she craved Elsa's. The anticipation of his homecoming was never this sharp, this glorious.

Anna pondered those dreams and her feelings as she ate breakfast alone in her room on Tuesday morning. As before, she vacillated between wanting to forge an even stronger connection with the woman who had provided her with such healing joy and delight, and wanting to maintain a certain distance from this woman, who was destined to leave her one day.

The day passed slowly. Anna had given orders for Kristoff to go to the station in Larvik for 2 pm. Should Elsa not be aboard that train, he should use the newly-installed telephone at the train station to notify them, and then wait in Larvik for the next train.

The time passed in strange spurts. Mother Marte was there to help bathe and dress her; the bruises were still livid on her pale and freckled skin. Anna hadn't worn one of the adapted shifts in over a week; she donned the silky undergarment with keen anticipation of Elsa's hands once again on her skin! Atop the shift was a pretty embroidered robe, chosen to accent her hair and the colour of her eyes.

Unable to bear being alone, Anna asked Lily and Helene to join her for afternoon tea and conversation just before two o'clock. The ladies came and talked animatedly about Ingrid's visit, and how the grandchildren had played so nicely together, and did you see the latest fashion that Ingrid had been wearing, and that hairstyle!

It was just the sort of empty, mindless talk that Anna craved, the kind of talk that was a voracious beast, gobbling minutes and spitting out absolutely nothing of consequence. She needed it, especially as Kristoff phoned to say that Miss Wolff hadn't been on the 2 o'clock train, and that he would wait for the next one.

Anna succumbed to the conversation, bobbing along its meaningless waves, occasionally joining them with just the right word, just the right exclamation, and so the time passed as she so desperately needed it to.

They were not completely oblivious. As they left her close to 4 o'clock for their visit with the children up in the nursery, Lily hung around the corner long enough to smile mischievously and say that she hoped they helped to pass the time before Miss Wolff's arrival.

…

As the time drew ever closer for Elsa's return, Anna found that she was both excited and anxious. She wanted her therapist back in her life, that much was certain, but she was also quite concerned for the grief that Elsa must still be feeling. From the very few stories Elsa had shared about India, her Master had played an important part in her life, filling the roles of father, mentor, and friend. To this moment, Anna didn't quite understand this relationship between Master and disciple; the words themselves felt antediluvian and yet somehow exotic. Yet she had only to remember the palpable grief on Elsa's face to know that the loss of this man was the loss of one of the pillars of her life and soul.

Elsa would have much to adjust to, to keep the castle of her life stable and strong after such a loss. And Anna knew all about that, didn't she?

She remembered the sight of her husband with his throat slit by window glass, the blood dark like winter cranberries against the winter snow.

Finally Gerda ducked in to tell her that Kristoff had returned with Miss Wolff, and that Miss Wolff had refused all offers of rest and refreshment in favour of coming right up. Anna felt a growl of pleasure vibrate through her breast at hearing those words; was it possible Elsa had missed her as much as she had missed her therapist?

Anna thanked Gerda and dismissed her; she didn't want to share this reunion with anyone. She wanted the opportunity to look into Elsa's face and see her as she truly was.

Her heart was thumping thick and hard in her chest. Anticipation made her veins thin, and her headache abruptly worsened.

Then came the knock on the door, and the pause that proved it was Elsa on the other side. "Come in," Anna softly called.

The door opened, and Elsa came into the room. She softly closed the door behind her and then stood there on the far side of Anna's bed, her kit looped over her elbow.

Anna's heart _wrenched_ to see Elsa standing there once more. Their eyes collided, and within that collision Anna finally understood something that had been eluding her ever since Elsa's arrival over a month ago.

 _This is no coincidence_ , Anna thought to herself _, for surely the universe itself has brought her to me!_

There seemed to be the slightest softening of Elsa's posture as she took in the sight of Anna in her bed, as if she had expected to see Anna ill, or in great pain, or even worse. Relief crept into Elsa's features, and Elsa began to walk around the bed.

Anna watched her as she walked, and understood something else. Elsa seemed incredibly altered by her time abroad, but it wasn't simply the alteration of emotion and spirit that was to be expected of grief and heartbreak. No, there was a slight faintness to her step, a slim hesitation to her movements, and these things spoke of a malady that wasn't simply emotional. Was Elsa ill? Or had it only been a wearisome journey?

Elsa's eyes stayed fastened on hers. Her smile began small, yet broadened with each step she took, as if she were genuinely glad to see Anna again. Yet Anna also perceived new walls inside Elsa's gaze, new defences that had been erected in the last ten days. "My dearest lady," Elsa said as she set her kit down by the bed, "I am so very pleased to see you again."

Oh, her voice was silk, her words were gloss, but here her low and faltering spirit was even more evident!

Anna had to touch her.

"Come here so I can greet you properly," Anna commanded, holding out her hand.

Elsa seemed slightly shocked by her imperative tone, but did as Anna bade, sitting right where Anna patted the edge of her bed. Anna leaned forward so she could take Elsa's cool face in her warm hands and she kissed each cheek; firm, grateful kisses right on Elsa's skin.

There. Yes. Anna truly felt something within her companion, something dreadfully awry. Something as cricked and askew as her own pelvis and legs. But this malady within her therapist was spiritual, not physical, and therefore would not be as easy to fix. Still, Anna was determined to do what she could to aid her, and heal her.

Anna couldn't release her so quickly. She held Elsa's face in her hands with her eyes closed and breathed her in; she inhaled deeply of the scent of sandalwood and rose, the faint tinge of sea salt in her clothes. Cheek to cheek she held herself close to Elsa and once again felt that minute trembling in Elsa's limbs. "Welcome home," Anna whispered.

Elsa slowly exhaled. Her hands, motionless a moment ago, tentatively moved to grasp Anna's arms, just above the elbow. Those hands, they trembled, as if they yearned to hold an entire body, just as they once had done.

And there they stayed, for several precious moments in time.

Yet the ache in Anna's heart soon grew too immense to manage; she could not bear the sweetness of Elsa's return, nor the feelings these kisses on Elsa's cheeks had engendered. Her lion's heart was already roaring with a sense of protectiveness for this younger woman, and she had to quell the urge to gather Elsa in an embrace and hold her tight, hold her forever.

So Anna reluctantly released her hold on Elsa's face and leaned back against the headboard of her bed. "Elsa, how are you, my dear? You must be so tired from your travels," Anna said. When Elsa made as if to get up and sit in the chair beside the bed, Anna said, "No, please stay, if you are comfortable. It's nice to have you near."

Elsa settled back down on the bed, and she shot Anna a grateful smile before assuming a careful, cautious posture. Before she left, Elsa had mentioned that she had been badly injured three times in her life. What part of her body had been wounded? Certainly something had happened to her back; that would explain the many times Anna had seen her rubbing it. What else had happened to her? And would Elsa never invite Anna into her confidence, and share her stories as well as her talents?

"It has been… a very emotional time, my lady," Elsa replied, speaking far more carefully than had been her custom before her departure. "Please do tell me, how did you fare? Are you all right?"

"I had some bad times, I'll admit, and I even had to use the laudanum once, but you were a good teacher," Anna replied, still carefully observing her. "I had a spare nurse from the hospital here to help me from time to time. I did some of the exercises you taught me, and used the salve and hot water bladder often. They were no substitute for you, not by far." Anna paused for a moment and then said what was actually on her mind. Her voice pitched lower, sweeter, she said, "I missed you so much, Elsa. I'm glad you went to London and were able to be with your Master, but I am so very pleased to have you back."

Anna had no idea she meant to speak so baldly of her emotions; her vulnerable heart between her teeth, she awaited Elsa's response.

Elsa ducked her head just slightly, her eyes dusky and dark, weighted with sorrow and relief, and then she whispered, "I missed you as well, Anna."

The sound of her name on Elsa's tongue spoke the truth of her words. Anna wanted to drown in the sweetness of her spoken name; it was honey and nectar.

"I thought of you often, and meditated for your health and safety," Elsa continued, taking a moment to tuck a tendril of white-blond hair back behind her ear. Then she reached out and poured them both glasses of water from the jug on the bedside table. She took a sip and then asked, "How is the pain now, m'lady?"

Anna ignored the question. "Do you need a day off, or even two? You've had so much to deal with, with the death of your Master and your long travels. I care for you, my dear. Please, why don't you take some time off and get some actual rest? Elsa, you are home again."

It was as if Anna had briefly resurrected the Elsa of ten days ago; the woman before looked incredibly stricken and vulnerable, as if the slightest touch would cause her body to crumble and her soul to dissolve.

And for the second time in her life Anna experienced this unexpected role reversal; it mirrored the day of Elsa's departure, the day of her greatest pain, and how Anna had professed to Elsa's Master's belief that there is time for all good things. Elsa had been shocked that moment, disbelieving.

It had been Anna's first glimpse into the fact that Elsa was only human, just a woman. Mayhap the most amazing woman she had ever encountered, but a woman nonetheless.

And this particular moment reinforced it once more.

For Elsa's gaze was stricken, the offer of respite and comfort unwelcome. Anna was offering salvation, a slim portion of peace, and it was something that Elsa seemed incapable of accepting. Anna's compassion in this moment was a sword, not a dove. Anna somehow knew it, and also knew what Elsa's response would be.

Her voice cast low, Elsa said, "My lady, I am adrift without an anchor. I feel unmoored, and cast upon vicious seas. Let me serve you. Let me gather my bearings, and regain my proper senses. Please."

Anna sat back for a moment longer, still able to see her therapist in this strange and somehow omniscient light. What had happened to her, that Elsa needed her so badly? She had always appeared so strong, like a titan of old. Did Elsa truly have no other life than this? Was Anna now the sole reference point to Elsa's existence?

Oh, god, was this truly Elsa's life, to travel from place to place, and give and give of her soul and sustenance, until she became no more than a wraith?

Perhaps that's why she held her history and her stories so close; she must need them as fire and coals to keep her inner spirit burning bright, giving her the energy necessary for this difficult work. If she shared them, the fire would diminish, and her very soul would fade!

Anna's head began to ache from all the suppositions, and she was forced to concede that she wanted Elsa to serve her. She wanted to be comforted. She wanted Elsa's hands on her, to banish the pain that had been gnawing and biting her the past ten days.

But even more than that, she wanted the serenity of Elsa's presence, the sweetness of her nature. She hadn't only missed Elsa's hands; she had missed every part of her nurse; the beauty of her thoughts when spoken aloud, the stillness she held like a great ocean inside her, the soulfire that Anna had so briefly shared the moment of her greatest pain.

So she tucked all these cumbersome and ungainly thoughts into a safe corner of her mind for later reflection and finally said, "Then please serve me, my dear. I desperately need an adjustment."

The relief on Elsa's face seemed to affirm all of Anna's thoughts. Elsa squeezed her hand before rising and disappearing into the adjoining bathing chamber, likely to prepare the table for use. Very soon she returned. Anna deliberately had not pulled aside the covers. Elsa looked slightly confused. "Sit down a moment," Anna said, and Elsa obeyed.

Then Anna told her about the fall she had taken on Saturday, when Johan had slipped on the toy. She peeled aside the covers and showed her nurse the bruises on her knees, pulling up her pant legs to do so. "I fell rather hard on my hip," Anna continued. "You'll see that bruise when you put me on the table. I've felt askew ever since. That's the reason I needed the laudanum, and Mother Magda was the one to give it to me."

A measure of anguish had entered Elsa's eyes at Anna's oration, but then she said, "Thank you for telling me. Let's fix that, shall we? After the adjustment, I'll give you a nice long massage as well. You've certainly earned it."

She helped peel aside the covers and then gathered Anna in her arms and lifted her from the bed.

Where once again she mirrored their blessed communion of ten days ago; Elsa disdained the use of the wheelchair, and she carried Anna into the bathing chamber by herself. Anna rested her head against Elsa's shoulder and breathed her in as Elsa walked from one room to another. This was no illusion. Elsa was finally home.

Dear god, she was home!

And then Anna was in the bathing chamber, and Elsa had drawn all the shutters, making the space dark and slightly cool, and what a gentle darkness it was for mid-afternoon. Anna blessed that darkness, for the privacy and security it afforded, the velvet womb of magic it engendered.

Elsa stripped her down to her smallclothes and put her face-down on the table, covering her with a light blanket. Her hands were on Anna's body, long swoops up and down the blanket, as she became familiar again with the slowly strengthening planes of Anna's muscle and bone. After a moment she lifted aside Anna's smallclothes to cluck over that bruise on Anna's hip, now yellowed and hideous from healing. Anna was glad that Elsa saw it.

"Are you ready, my dear? Shall I begin?"

"Yes."

The familiar pressure began at the top of her spine, near her shoulders. Elsa pushed and pushed, increasing the pressure, breathing in tandem with Anna, until there was that final push and crack of the spine. Anna breathed of her pleasure, her acceptance. And down and down her body Elsa continued to work in silence, one satisfying crack after another.

Then Elsa came to Anna's hips and pelvis. She began to work even slower, lavishing attention upon Anna's beleaguered hips. She took each hip in her competent hands, rubbing it gently to loosen it before lifting and pressing, increasing the pressure so slowly, so marvellously, like a morning tide kissed by a most benevolent dawn!

And there it was, that lustrous click of her bones realigning, a deep reconnection of her bones to her muscles and sinews. The moment it happened, Anna could feel the _rightness_ of it, and she wanted to weep with thanksgiving. That glorious hive was starting to return to Anna's nerves. Such a gift it was, a gift that the Anna of a year ago had never even realized. What care had she for legs that worked, for a husband that was distant to her?

The cow on the train tracks that day… had it really been a blessing? Only after its arrival had Anna even begun to realize the glory of a whole body, the glory of a unified soul…

Elsa began to speak in low tones as she moved to the end of the bed. She took Anna's ankles, and Anna felt the pull on her upper body, once, and then twice. Elsa gently turned her over on the bed and sat on the stool behind her, taking her neck in her hands. "Breathe for me, Anna," she whispered, and Anna breathed, taking this good, blessed air deep into her lungs. As she exhaled, she felt the pull begin.

She felt the pull begin, and it was a long and gossamer thread, gleaming and golden, connecting her momentarily from the tips of her toes to the base of her skull where Elsa's hands supported her. Oh, she felt so cradled, so protected, and then there was another soft click, and oh, how her body vibrated with pleasure and contentment!

Elsa slowly released the pressure and then held Anna some moments longer, breathing with her, stroking the long muscles of her neck with her thumbs. Anna felt energized, and so incredibly treasured. She suddenly realized she was close to tears; emotions had ridden the wave of the adjustment, feelings of gratitude and overwhelming affection. "Oh, Elsa," she breathed. "How I missed you!"

The fingers still held her neck; she heard Elsa's breath catch in her throat. "Oh, honey," she heard Elsa whisper. Her thumbs momentarily stroked her once more in response.

But then Elsa inhaled, and Anna heard that self-same catch even there, and Elsa whispered, "Dare I say I'm glad? Oh, Anna, it is so lovely to be missed. How long it's been since I've been missed!"

Anna wanted to look at her, but daren't, for that great beast of protectiveness and affection had briefly roared in satisfaction and joy at Elsa's words. And Anna couldn't control that beast, not fully. If she opened her eyes, if she looked at Elsa just now, she would weep for the bliss that even now suffused her entire body.

And she somehow knew that her tears would wound her companion. Elsa had had enough grief, enough emotion, in the last ten days. Anna could not bear to wound her even further.

So they just sat together for a while longer, and then Elsa whispered, "How about a massage?"

"Yes, please."

Elsa preferred to work on her back and legs first, so she once again helped Anna turn over on the bed. She worked on Anna's legs first, murmuring to tell her what she was doing. Anna let herself drift on the music of the words, the sound of Elsa working on her legs and feet. At this moment she didn't care that she couldn't feel what was happening down there. It was enough to have those hands on her once again, after such a gaping absence as the last ten days had afforded.

Some time later Elsa finished working on Anna's paralyzed legs, and tucked them back under the sheet. She bared Anna's back, slicked her hands again with oil, and began to work. As she began the familiar, rhythmic movements, Anna settled even deeper onto the table, another vast swell of gratitude and affection again cresting inside her. She sighed aloud as Elsa found and massaged a sweet spot above her injured hip.

And at her sigh, those beloved hands seemed to falter. Anna's swell of gratitude turned into a tide of concern. Anna turned her head and put out her hand to touch Elsa's arm. Elsa paused in her movements, a look of surprise in her eyes. "I wish you could talk to me, Elsa. I wish you would tell me what is wrong. I'm here for you, my dear. Let me in, please."

The words seemed to strike her nurse like fists. After a moment, Elsa took a breath and said, "I'm feeling so sad, my lady. I lost my own father so very long ago; I was scarcely more than a child. This man, my Master, he became my surrogate father. The monks at the monastery, they became my family. To be with him again, after all our years apart, only to see him suffer and die… it was agony." She slowly began rubbing Anna's back again. Anna kept her head tilted, for there was just enough light in the room to see her.

When the pause lengthened, Anna softly asked, "And?"

Elsa's breath hitched and her hands yet again faltered, causing an answering tremble in Anna's throat. "He asked me to return with the others to India, to take his ashes back to sprinkle in the sacred river of his birth. And then to return to the monastery and share my knowledge with others, and teach them all I know. And there, I could also spend some time in meditation, and in peace, in my true home."

Anna stared at her as her heart closed hard and tight, like a fist. The breath escaped her lungs; for a moment she could scarcely breathe. The mere idea of Elsa's complete absence from her life was intolerable.

No more massages, no more adjustments, no more waking in the middle of the night to nightmares and finding her comforting presence nearby. No more kittens, no more special desserts, no more beloved scent of sandalwood and rose.

No sudden kisses upon her forehead, nor warm body to momentarily hold.

 _Oh, God, no!_

Frightened beyond reason, she choked out, trying to keep her voice even, "And what did you decide?"

Elsa's hands had been working near her shoulders during this brief conversation; Elsa stopped her work and then grasped Anna's neck and shoulder. Elsa knelt down so she could look Anna right in her eyes. Elsa's eyes were luminous with unshed tears, and her voice was incredibly sombre as she said, "I denied him, my lady. I denied my own Master his deathwish."

A sacred pause ensued, here in this chamber. Anna held her breath, awaiting the words that would come.

Elsa took a sip of air before continuing, "For I told him that I am yours, Anna. Only yours. I will not abandon you. My lady, you are my home now, the only place I want to be. If you wish it, I will stay with you until you have completely built the life you desire."

Her words were heartfelt; the sentiment unmistakeable; Anna's heart thundered in her breast as she absorbed those words, allowing them to break the boulder of dismay and alarm that had formed in her throat. Yet again Elsa spoke words that reached into the core of her, searing into the molten centre of her soul, and Anna knew that she would never ever forget them.

Had anyone ever told her something so simple, yet so exquisite?

 _I am yours, Anna. Only yours. I will not abandon you._

Anna had to touch her; she reached out her hand and cupped Elsa's cheek, noting with bewildered amazement how Elsa briefly turned into her proffered palm, relying on Anna's own strength. But when Anna opened her mouth to say something, she found she could scarcely speak. She wanted to tell Elsa how much these words meant to her, how grateful she was for Elsa's presence, how awful the thought of her absence was.

But there was such rubble in her throat that Anna could only reply, "Yes, Elsa, that is what I wish. Stay with me. Please."

 _Stay with me forever,_ she thought. But she didn't speak those words. She only thought them.

But even as she said some of her words, Anna wished she hadn't said them, she wished she could let Elsa go and be with the monks, and share the knowledge and techniques that had so greatly improved Anna's life. But these last ten days apart had only highlighted Elsa's devoted and particular care, and what a harsh contrast it had been to live a life bereft of such service, even for a short while.

Anna wasn't strong enough without her. Not yet. And yes, she would be selfish enough to keep her therapist with her until she rebuilt her life.

Besides, there would be time yet for Elsa to return to the monastery. There was time for all good things. Surely once Anna was healed, Elsa could return to the mountains of India and share all her uncanny knowledge, all her special techniques!

Anna still needed her. Yes, she did.

Elsa smiled, and Anna released her hold on her nurse's face. Elsa rose, caressed Anna's neck once more, and helped her put her head back into the unique headrest of the table. As she sunk once more into the delight of the massage, Anna thought of how she would not go back to the life she had lived before. There was only a new life to build, not an old one to resurrect. With every stroke of her hands, with every rehabilitation session and adjustment, Elsa was helping her set the foundation for this new life.

It would be strong. So very strong. Able to withstand every storm to come upon her.

Elsa resumed her quiet work, spending time on Anna's hips and lower back. Anna allowed her thoughts to drift, though time and again they came back to the words Elsa had just spoken. _I am yours, Anna. Only yours. I will not abandon you._ Those words tasted of baklava, of Turkish Delight, of strong Greek coffee.

 _You are my home now, the only place I want to be._

Could this be true? If it were, it mirrored the secret desire of Anna's own heart.

Affection pulsed and seared inside her. But it was not only affection. This emotion needed a proper naming.

Yes. There was a word for this.

This emotion was love, and it terrified her.

For their separation was inevitable. One day Elsa would take her bags and walk out Anna's door. She would go off to India or other parts unknown, to teach others her special techniques, and Anna would never see her again. It wasn't called the far side of the world for nothing.

Their loss and separation was predestined. And it broke Anna's heart to think of it.

But as Elsa continued to work on her, Anna thought back to the other words Elsa had said. She had denied her Master's deathwish. She chose Anna instead.

Just as Anna had similarly chosen Elsa, just ten days ago.

And not for one moment during the past ten days could Anna have imagined that her reunion with Elsa Wolff would be quite this heart-wrenching, quite this bittersweet. Elsa had managed to soothe away her pains, to bring her body back into alignment. Under the influence of her talented hands, Anna's nerves had once again become a glorious hive; she was no longer askew.

Then why did she feel so simultaneously beloved and treasured, and yet so awfully wretched?

Her love for Hans had never been this complex. Just what did she feel for her nurse? And would she ever just surrender to this feeling, and allow it to be?

...

There you are, my dears. I hope to have the next update ready in about ten days. Prepare yourselves for a journey unlike you've ever seen before. Now hit that review button and send me some love. -Jen


	11. Chapter 11 - Moonlight

**Chapter Eleven – Moonlight**

"My lady?" she heard Elsa ask.

Anna had been drifting on the tide of her own tortured thoughts, musing about the eventual separation she would have with her therapist, even while she felt so treasured, so _chosen_. The pain that had lingered within pockets and corners of her body over the last ten days had been banished, and, for the moment, Anna was simply enjoying the languid beauty of this massage, the glory of Elsa's talented hands on her.

She wished she could just freeze this moment in time, somehow halt it and tame it, and therefore keep it forever!

But at Elsa's words, Anna brought her mind back into focus and said, "Yes?"

"I asked if you are ready to turn over now for a scalp massage."

"Yes, I am."

After so many massages, they had this down to an art. Elsa deftly turned her over, and then settled the sheet over Anna's breasts and under her arms. She then sat on the stool behind Anna's head and picked the pins out of Anna's hair, releasing it from its pretty bonds.

Then her fingers were on Anna's head, sliding like oiled silk over her scalp, and a shiver cascaded over Anna's body. Elsa worked in silence for some time before saying, "I think you've gained some weight, Anna. That's a very good thing. How has your appetite been?"

"Improving," Anna said as she settled into the scalp massage. She lightly hissed when Elsa moved her hands over that just-healed fracture in her skull, and Elsa immediately focused her attention elsewhere, along her temples and the base of her skull. Her headache slowly dimmed again.

She could feel Elsa's hands upon her head, she could hear the steady and deep inhale and exhale of Elsa's breath. Now that her nurse was home again, Anna hoped that they would find both space and time to speak of real things; that Anna could hear more of Elsa's trip to London, and the last hours she had spent with her Master. Maybe she could also hear more about Elsa's family, and her dread injuries, and learn just how it came about that Elsa was here, serving her, instead of instructing novices in a far monastery in India.

Anna was still in a bit of a glorious daze as Elsa lifted her and carried her back into her bedchamber. She settled Anna back into her bed, tenderly tucking her onto her side. "Do you wish a nap, my lady?" she heard Elsa breathe.

"Just a short one, my dear. But, oh, Elsa…"

"I'm not going anywhere, dearest. Sleep, honey. Sleep for now."

Anna reached out her hand. Elsa took it, and held it.

And Anna slept.

It was the ringing of the gong that woke her, only twenty minutes later. She woke with a start, only to find that Elsa was still seated by her side, still holding her hand. Elsa lightly squeezed and said, "It's all right, Anna. God, what an archaic custom this is, this ringing of the gong!"

Anna chuckled as she struggled to sit up. Elsa released her hand and watched as Anna used the triangle bar above the bed to pull herself into a seated position. The nap had done what she had so desperately needed; Anna felt rested and full of energy. Her senses, dulled by the glory of Elsa's massage, had returned in full force.

And she now realized that Elsa seemed to be skating on the edge of exhaustion, and that duty and friendship were perhaps taxing her too greatly. Anna made a decision, then and there. "Gerda will be coming any moment," Anna said. "And, because of you, I actually feel well enough to dress for dinner. You may have the rest of the evening off, Elsa. You look like you need it."

Elsa looked at her, a wan smile on her lips. She looked so incredibly pale and fatigued. "You can see right through me sometimes, can't you?" she said quietly. Then she asked, her voice tentative, "May I come and check on you before bed, like we used to do?" Then her cheeks reddened slightly in a blush as she continued, "It's just… it's nice to be near you again."

Again, those simple words did something magnificent to Anna's heart, and she smiled in gladness to hear them. "Yes, please come see me before bed," Anna agreed. "Gerda will keep you updated. I don't want to overdo things, and I still have a small headache, so I don't imagine I'll linger in the sitting room after dinner for very long."

Buoyed on Elsa's own affectionate words, Anna gathered her courage and said, "Elsa, I want you to know something. I hope you don't think I only missed you because of your service. Of course I missed the massages, and the adjustments. But I also missed _you._ Your presence, and your spirit. Don't ever think that you are just a nurse to me. You may have started that way, but you mean more to me now. You are a gift to me, and I'm grateful for all of you."

Elsa blinked as she absorbed Anna's heartfelt words. When she spoke again, her voice was husky and deep, and Anna could hear that she was close to tears. "Thank you, Anna. That means more to me than you'll ever know."

Just then a knock came on the door. Gerda opened it slightly and peeked in, then came all the way in when she saw that Anna was awake. "Will you dress for dinner, my lady?" Gerda asked.

"In fact, I will." Anna smiled at Elsa once more. "Miss Wolff, thank you. Get some rest, and I'll see you in a few hours."

Elsa had risen from the chair. She bobbed Anna a quick curtsey and left the room, each step seemingly weighted with dullness and exhaustion.

"It must be so nice to have Miss Wolff back," Gerda said as she went to Anna's wardrobe. "She has such a warm, generous presence, doesn't she?"

"Indeed she does," Anna agreed.

Between them they chose a gown, and Gerda helped her dress. She did Anna's hair, braiding it before tucking it in an intricate knot at the base of her skull, capping it with a net of pearls that magnified the beautiful starkness of that white streak in Anna's hair. Kristoff soon arrived to carry Anna down the stairs, and then Kai wheeled her into the sitting room.

The party was small tonight, for it was only the family and no other visitors. Anna was glad of it. To her immense delight, they had all finally stopped treating her like an invalid. The conversation about the table was normal. Johan and Lily discussed some of the tenants, Lily and Helene talked about the latest fashions, and they all spoke of the recent visit with Heidi's family. The conversation inevitably turned to the return of Anna's therapist.

"Miss Wolff hasn't told me much about the journey itself yet," Anna admitted when Helene asked about the trip to London. "All I know is that she was in the company of her Master when he died." She took a sip of wine and then said, "In fact, Miss Wolff told me that her Master specifically asked her to return to India right away, and take his ashes to sprinkle in the river of his birth. And for her to stay there, to teach the younger monks and novices some of her very valuable and unique techniques."

"My god," Johan exclaimed in surprise. "And will she? Will Wolff leave you and go back to India?"

Anna smiled, though the smile was small and perfect, for she would hold Elsa's beautiful words only inside herself.

 _I am yours_.

 _You are the only place I want to be._

"No, she will stay here for a while yet. I still need her, and it appears that she is content enough to stay and serve me for now."

"Thank god for that," Johan continued. He would have been blind not to notice that the last ten days had been particularly hard for his mother, and it was clear to see that Wolff not only helped her physical condition, but her mental and emotional condition as well. This therapist brought great joy into Anna's life. Even within the few short hours since her return, his mother had the blessed sparkle back in her eyes, and a joyful dynamism to her movements. Almost so much that Johan forgot that she sat not in one of the dining chairs, but in a wheelchair.

Anna even joined them in the sitting room after dinner for a glass of sherry, enjoying the company and the conversation. But finally the pressure in her head and lower back grew too great to be ignored, and she paid her respects to them all before Kristoff came to carry her back upstairs to her room. Gerda was there a few minutes after she pulled the cord, and helped Anna into her nightdress.

And then Elsa returned, and she looked slightly more rested and refreshed with these few hours off. She asked about the dinner, and how Anna was feeling, and Anna answered all her questions. She admitted to the persistent headache as well. Elsa immediately dimmed all the lights in the room and lit several candles on Anna's bedside table, creating a soft, intimate space. Anna watched her in amazement; just when she thought she had seen all Elsa's tricks…

For Elsa moved to Anna's feet and exposed them. She took Anna's right foot in her hand and began to press some spot between her first and second toe. "My Master has always been my Master," she began to say softly as she applied pressure that Anna could not feel. "Even as he lay dying of sepsis, he continued to instruct me, and to remind me of practices we had undertaken in the monastery…" She moved to Anna's other foot and held the same spot. "In the few days we had together, he refreshed my knowledge of so many things. I had somehow forgotten so much, Anna…"

Elsa tucked Anna's feet back under the covers, and then sat at her side to take Anna's hands. She took Anna's nearest hand and held a spot in the web between thumb and forefinger. Anna was mesmerized, she couldn't take her eyes off her therapist. The candlelight utterly transformed her room, and the softly determined face of her therapist was cast half in shadow, and half in flickering tones of light.

She was scarcely real; in this moment Elsa was no longer human, for she was an angel, a butterfly, a ray of moonlight made flesh…

"You cannot feel your legs or your feet yet, but you will, my lady," Elsa continued in a near whisper. "Remember, your spinal cord was only compressed during the accident, not severed completely. Others have had similar injuries, and have completely regained the use of their legs." She took Anna's other hand and held it in the same way. Anna could feel her nerves responding; sparking and roaring both up to her head and down into her blurred pelvis.

"Your will to live is stronger now, I know it, my dear, I can feel it in you. Your spark had almost been doused, but not anymore. Not anymore, Anna. Your fire has been rekindled, you are ready to roar!

"Now. I'm going to move you forward a bit so that I may sit behind you. Take a breath, my lady."

Anna barely had a moment to obey the command before Elsa released her hand and then picked her up, only to move her further from the headboard. Before Anna could wonder what was going on, Elsa climbed into bed behind her, tucking one knee under her. "Put your head down, my dear," she ordered, and Anna instantly obeyed, ducking her head. She could feel Elsa behind her, taking the spot Anna normally took against the headboard. Elsa put her hands on Anna's neck and began to press a very specific spot.

Again, Anna's nerves began to sparkle and fizz. Strangely, she could feel this pressure in her hips, and in the palms of her hands. Elsa held this position for some moments before she spoke again.

"You have been in this body long enough, dear one," Elsa whispered as she moved once more, in this strange treatment Anna had never before experienced nor even imagined could exist. Elsa now touched her back over her nightgown, pressing with her thumbs along the blade of her shoulders, and then down and up the spine. "When my Master realized the depth of my dedication to you, when he knew I would not forsake you, he forgave me my decision not to return to India. And he gave me some very valuable advice."

Up those beloved fingers went, up onto Anna's neck, just under the base of her skull. It felt like the first adjustment Elsa had ever given her, and how her body had immediately reacted, her nerves sparking and effervescent as they were tuned and limbered by these incredibly competent hands.

Still the hands moved ever higher, and then all four of Elsa's fingertips were pressed around her temples and ears. Soft yet firm pressure ensued, and Anna's body seemed to _roar_. She lifted her neck to the darkened air of her bedchamber, to the words Elsa kept whispering in her ear, and felt the warm body of her companion behind her.

Anna Arendelle lifted her neck; and breathed, or gasped, or sighed.

Elsa breathed with her, and pressed slightly harder against these points, and Anna reached her hands back. One of them touched Elsa's dress over her bent knees, and the other touched the cloth of her sheets. Anna gathered fabric in her hands as Elsa held her head.

"Come to me," Elsa whispered, and then drew her back so that she was leaning against Elsa's upper body, even while Elsa continued to hold her head, so still, so strong. "Breathe with me, honey," Elsa whispered into her ear, and Anna breathed, cradled against Elsa's body, her fingers so warm, pressing with such gentle insistence against her skull above her ears.

Her eyes still closed, Anna latched on to Elsa's final words and asked, "What advice did he give you, Elsa? What did your Master say?"

Elsa leaned back even further against the headboard, pulling Anna with her, until Anna rested completely on Elsa's chest. Elsa took her hands from Anna's temples and began stroking Anna's forehead in long and gentle swipes. "He said, 'water', my dear. He reminded me about water. Shush now a moment, forget my words, let the world pass away. Just feel your body, from the toes of your feet to the crown of your head. Quiet now, honey, just for a minute. Trust me."

Anna allowed herself to melt even further, to rest completely against Elsa's warm body as she obeyed her therapist's words, even the strange ones about feeling her paralyzed toes. There was only candlelight; flickering. The room was dark and warm. Anna rose and fell with each of Elsa's breaths. Elsa kept stroking her forehead in long and soothing strokes of her fingers.

And then Elsa wrapped one arm around Anna's upper chest, just above her breasts, and with the other she pressed the space between Anna's eyebrows with the tip of her middle finger.

Anna felt a bolt of electricity begin in her forehead before raging down her spine and into her pelvis. Her nerves were so vivacious; they bubbled and giggled and popped. For more long moments Elsa cradled her with one arm, and touched her forehead with the other. Anna felt her mouth fall open, and she breathed over the blade of her tongue.

Never. Never in all her life had she felt like this…

Then Elsa removed the hand from her forehead and simply held her. Anna's head rested against Elsa's shoulder, and both of Elsa's arms were now wrapped, firm and loving, over Anna's chest, holding Anna's arms in place. Anna's hands fell open in deep relaxation and trust, exposing her palms.

And they breathed together, as one being, one organism, one universe.

Anna's consciousness began to drift as sleep crept towards her open hands.

She thought she heard Elsa say, "Nothing else matters, Anna. For this moment, this breath, we are together again. There is beauty in the present moment, my dear. There is such incredible beauty in the now. Drift in the now, honey. And let it take you away."

Part of Anna wanted to listen, and obey. To allow sleep to claim her, and take her peacefully into the next day.

But this time Anna resisted. She fought the impulse to sleep. She didn't want to drift away on peaceable waves, and wake to sunlight and a new day. For there was also beauty and magic in the night, in darkness, and in breaths shared between kindred spirits. This now was far too beautiful to pass up. This experience had become dearer than all her imagining, and she didn't want it to end.

Though her mouth was a cavern of clay, yet she opened it and said, "I don't want to sleep, Elsa. Not yet."

"Why not?" her companion whispered, her voice in Anna's ear.

Anna's eyelashes seemed dipped in cement, yet she opened them to the soft flickering glow of candles. She still rose and fell with Elsa's breath. "Because the now is too glorious to sacrifice to something as trivial as sleep. Elsa, can you not imagine how it feels to be held like this, after so many months and years of emptiness?"

She could actually feel the answering lurch in Elsa's heart.

"Oh, yes, I can imagine it," Elsa breathed. "For I have lived the emptiness as well."

"This moment is destined to end, yet I will hold on to it as long as I am able. Just as you are destined to leave me, but I will hold on to you as long as I can."

There was a hitch in Elsa's breathing, easily detected.

"For some things are worth having, and holding, transient as they are," Anna said, not knowing where the words came from, but trusting them nonetheless. "Why else would we watch a sunrise, or the dance of a butterfly, or hold a babe to the breast?"

She felt Elsa sigh beneath her, but somehow Anna knew that it was a sigh of self-recrimination, not a sigh of acceptance.

It took all the effort she had to lift her lethargic body from the comfort and peace of Elsa's embrace. Yet still she lifted herself, and immediately felt the stark absence of Elsa's warmth. Her nurse's hands and arms peeled away.

Anna pivoted in her bed so she could look at Elsa's face. Elsa had straightened, sitting more upright, concern and desperation in her eyes.

Anna couldn't bear that concern, not while appreciation and gratitude were so ascendant in her heart. She lifted her hand and softly cupped Elsa's face. Elsa's eyes were arrested on hers; they were somehow bluer than she remembered, and tender with exhaustion and grief.

"What is in your heart?" Anna softly asked. "Elsa, must you forever keep yourself apart? Why do you give, and give, and give so relentlessly without taking your due? You once asked me not to be a martyr. I could ask the same of you."

Elsa's face was shocked, her eyes wide.

"Now, understand something. If you must hold your stories dear, and use them as wood and oil to burn on the altar of your spirit, that is one thing, and I will respect it. But if you dare to think of yourself as a lesser being, as someone not worthy of my love and respect, then you must know that is an opinion I simply will not tolerate." Her words seemed to strike Elsa like small, stinging wasps.

She saw Elsa's eyes redden, and tears began to form. Anna immediately regretted her words. What had she been thinking, to speak such a way when Elsa was still grieving for the loss of her Master?

Anna removed her hand from Elsa's face and said, "Forgive me, Elsa. I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I just…" and she chuckled weakly, "I was rather impulsive in my youth, and it seems those tendencies linger still. I don't always think before I speak. Or before I act. Or think at all, in fact."

At the smile on Anna's face as she spoke, Elsa also smiled, though it was small, and wan. "You need no forgiveness," Elsa said. "I just… I seem to continually underestimate you, Lady Skaldenfoss. I am a fool."

"You are not a fool. I was born with a fool-sensing radar, and I would have found you out before now," Anna said, reaching with gladness into the levity she had enjoyed as a youth, the same levity that Hans had tried, unsuccessfully, to stamp out of her over the years of their marriage.

Elsa flashed her a smile. "Then I subject myself to your appraisal, madam. Tell me, when you look at me, what do you see?"

Anna looked at her, and saw that this was no time for jokes, or for light-heartedness. "I see beauty, and strength," Anna said slowly, deliberately. "I see love, and caring. I see sacrifice. But I also see walls, Elsa Wolff. But for now you may keep them, for it appears you need them."

"My Master called them 'gloves'," Elsa whispered, her eyes incredibly far away, perhaps upon the slopes of the mountains in far-off India that she had called home. "My inner gloves. My barrier between myself and touching the world."

Then her eyes became fully _present_ , and Elsa said, "My lady, forgive me. But his passing is too close and dear, I need my gloves now, or else I would sink forever beneath the water. Please. Would it help if I promised to take them off, some day? I would take these gloves off, for you."

Anna could see it; she could see the grief, the immense longing for what was forever out of reach, just as she recognized Elsa's earlier agony when Elsa had begged to serve her, for she felt unmoored and needed to come back to her senses.

So Anna did as she had been taught, she resurrected the Baroness Skaldenfoss in all her finery, all her prescribed glory, and Anna cast her mind back on their conversation before saying, "Water. Why did your Master say 'water'?"

It was a metaphorical life-preserver that she had tossed, and Elsa gratefully took it.

Not that it diminished the agony in Anna's heart, to be denied Elsa's confidence. How long would she be forced to be the Baroness, and deny her own true, inquisitive, somewhat clumsy self!

Would no one ever see the truth of her essential character?

"May I sit in the chair, my lady?" Elsa asked. "My leg is growing numb."

Anna's heart momentarily fell, for she had enjoyed this sudden intimacy more than she could say. Yet permission had been asked, and she would give it, as she must.

Anna mutely nodded, and Elsa got up from the bed, moving slowly and stiffly. She took a moment to stretch her arms and legs. Anna used this opportunity to grasp the triangle bar above her head and pull herself back into a seated position against the headboard. As Elsa sat down in the chair and had a sip of water, Anna checked into her body. Her headache was gone, save for a last low ache that she suspected would persist the rest of her natural life.

After all, she had broken her skull. This headache was nothing compared to those that had come before when she had been in the hospital in Oslo, the ones that blinded her and made her vomit. If only she could have had Elsa from the beginning!

Anna immediately chastised herself. Surely Elsa had been the perfect companion for a boy dying of consumption, the right person to softly usher a soul out of this life and into the next.

The candlelight painted Elsa in a warm and welcoming glow. "Are you feeling better, my lady?" she asked.

"Much better, thank you, Elsa," Anna replied. "Perhaps I should have let myself fall asleep, but there is something rather special and serene about the night, isn't there?"

"Yes, I have always believed so."

"You were talking about your visit with your Master. I'm so glad, Elsa, that you were able to spend some time with him before he died. That must have been such a comfort to you."

Elsa breathed before she responded, leaning back in the chair with the cup of water in her hands. "Yes, it was, Anna." She paused, and then added, so quiet and so low, "I left the monastery in April of 1922, feeling rather wretched and alone, heeding a call I didn't understand and certainly didn't like. My Master wasn't even in India, for he had left a year prior to teach at the hospital in London. I remember watching him leave, one snowy morning in 1921, as he got on a horse that would take him to Calcutta, and from there to England. He held his hand up to me that day. I saw it, bright and clear, against the backdrop of the snow. I took that hand in mine, as he lay dying in London.

"He was in such pain, and in bouts of delirium as well, but he focused all his attention on me. He knew his death was close, but he made me feel so valued, so treasured." Elsa paused, and then continued, "He called me a gift, a gift to this world. I'll never forget those words, my lady."

"No, I suspect not," Anna breathed, sitting so still so as to further invite this outpouring of memory. After a few moments passed in silence, Anna dared to ask, "If you were to think of a perfect moment that you had shared together, what would it be? Tell me, please."

Elsa openly stared at her, seemingly surprised by the question. "May I rub your feet, Anna?"

"If it would help you feel useful, yes, you may. Do as you wish, as long as you answer my question," Anna answered. She felt so soft, so brazen.

Elsa looked slightly taken aback, perhaps at the fact that Anna had seen right through her defences, and then she smiled and rose from her chair. She took a vial of oil, sat at the foot of Anna's bed, and then pulled aside the covers. She pulled the unfeeling foot onto her lap, oiled her hands, and began to rub. "Did you grow another sense while I was away, my lady? That's twice today that you've seen right through me."

Anna quickly rallied her still somewhat-dozy wits and replied, "You can keep your windows and doors shut with everyone else, Elsa, but that won't work any longer with me. I can see through the curtains now. We shared something powerful the day you left. We connected, my dear. Those connections. They matter." She allowed those words to float across her paralyzed legs, and then insisted, "Would you answer my question, about your Master?"

"A perfect moment, yes?"

"Yes."

Elsa momentarily closed her eyes as she worked. Anna watched as Elsa's throat bobbed in concentration, the candlelight low and inconstant on her skin. If she were a beam of moonlight, then surely Anna had somehow caught her in her hands!

Then Elsa opened her eyes, fixed them only upon Anna, and said, "There were many such moments, but one stands out particularly fierce in my mind. It was mid-March of 1920. Even the air in my small bedchamber was cold, and frost was upon the window. The sun was just beginning to rise. I should have been awake even earlier for morning meditation with the other monks, but I had fallen ill a week before and was excused. I woke feeling wretched with sickness, and found myself afflicted with ancient sadness and anger as well.

"Usually a monastic initiate would come in the morning, to bring me butter yak tea and some rice cakes for my poor stomach. But on that particular morning, it was my Master who came through the door. He sat on his heels next to my cot, and fluffed out a new red blanket over my shivering body. Then he quietly served me my tea. I tried to tell him I could do it myself, but he insisted. 'For those who serve must also accept service,' he told me.

"I soon realized he had brought extra, and poured himself a cup of tea as well. Then he sat next to me and began to talk to me. There were so many young monks at the time, Anna, but I was the only woman disciple. It was strange for him to be alone with me. I couldn't stop staring at him. Such an important man, with so many demands on his time and attention, and yet he sat with me, for two hours or more, just drinking tea and eating breakfast and talking of little things. All the while radiating the stillness that he held like an invincible ocean inside him.

"I had been so angry, so sad, so defiant. The consequences of the war still deeply harrowed my mind. What I had seen, what I had personally gone through… there were moments that I denied the existence of any God. How could there be, with such suffering in the world? With such suffering in me?

"But as he sat there with me, his serenity became another meal I could eat and drink and somehow bring into my body. It was that pure, that absolute. Before he left me that day, he had final words for me. He said, 'The world is perfect, just the way it is. It is a mess. It will always be a mess. It is not our duty to change the world. Our only duty is to change ourselves. But for today, just _be_ , and stop worrying.' Then he leaned over, and kissed me on the forehead."

Elsa's hands slowed upon Anna's feet, and she turned her face away. "He kissed me once more the same way, there in London, just after sunrise on the day of his passing. He kissed me, and forgave me my defiance."

When Elsa looked at Anna again, her eyes were gleaming with unshed tears. Anna's heart lurched in her chest as Elsa's story continued to reverberate inside her mind and soul.

Could those words be true? Yes, the world was a mess, but wasn't it her duty to change it? Could it be enough just to change herself? Just to _be?_

The thought tugged at her, for it vibrated in harmony with the truth Anna had discovered under her pain, the truth of her eternal nature, her divinity. Did it matter that her body was a mess, all paralyzed and broken? Did it change _who she was?_

But then Elsa continued to speak, and Anna focused her attention on her. "That really was a perfect moment, my lady. And that was a perfect question. I haven't thought of that particular moment in some time."

"Now that your tongue is lubricated, and your memory clear, perhaps you could tell me what you meant about water," Anna said. She judged that other memories about Elsa's past were too close and dear for her companion to handle at this point, so she savoured her small victory; another minute portion of Elsa's history now resided within her own heart and memory.

Somewhat to her surprise, Elsa lifted her neck and laughed aloud. The sound was bright and clear, cutting through the welcoming darkness of the room, the flickering candlelight. "Oh, honey, you are indeed my treasure and my joy. I had forgotten how subtle of wit you could be." She continued to rub Anna's foot for a moment longer before she continued, her voice lower now, and sweeter, "I wondered if you had actually heard me. I could feel you going deeper, my lady, and I hoped you would fall asleep, and sleep peacefully."

"Perhaps I wanted more time in your company," Anna slowly replied, her heart between her teeth as she said what she actually felt. "Perhaps I wanted the communion that night-time and candlelight offers."

Elsa's hands were on her ankles and lower calves, rubbing, rubbing. Anna had to imagine how those fingers felt on the skin of her paralyzed legs. Her nerves were somehow still sparkling, still effervescent from the strange headache treatment she had just been given.

She had leaned against Elsa's warm body. She had felt Elsa's fingertips against her forehead. She had been held, and cherished.

Anna was no longer awry.

"All right, then," Elsa chuckled. "Water. I think I mentioned that my Master went to London to work at a teaching hospital, yes? He went with three other younger disciples, over three years ago."

Anna nodded.

"Ever since the end of the war there has been a sharp increase in the study of rehabilitation, to help all the men who were so badly wounded and maimed in battle. My Master himself had the care of one such facility, situated in London. While I was there, and speaking of the lady I served, he reminded me that there is a technique that can be used in spinal rehabilitation that has much to do with water."

Elsa once again oiled her hands and took Anna's other foot. "Imagine a swimming pool, that starts shallow and gradually goes deeper, and in this pool a person who has been paralyzed can learn to float. Combined with other treatments, such as these daily foot rubs and spinal adjustments, a person with chronic nerve injury may, in fact, regain the use of their legs. Floating turns into swimming and kicking exercises, and muscles are gently toned and exercised in the safety of water."

Anna stared at her. The concept made complete and immediate sense.

"We spoke at length about your case history. He was very curious about you, this woman I served," Elsa said, a small smile on her face. "We spoke about various advancements in this therapy, and the facilities that have been built in France and Belgium for convalescents such as you. Indeed, the hospital in which he worked had such a pool, and was much occupied with serving those wounded in war."

Anna blinked as she forced herself to fully digest Elsa's words.

Elsa suddenly stopped working. She simply held Anna's foot and then looked right into Anna's eyes. Her gaze was focused, and so very intent. Elsa took a deep breath, and then spoke.

"I wasn't going to mention this possibility so soon after my arrival; I wanted time to readjust to my life here, and to reacquaint myself with you. But you are somehow far more curious than you had been before I left for London; you, my dear, are somehow more tenacious than ever." Elsa chuckled again even as she continued to hold Anna's foot.

"So you have disrupted my glorious plan. Fine. Here goes." Elsa took another deep breath, as if rallying quivering nerves, and then she said, "Anna, I want to take you away from here. I want to take you to a place of healing waters, where we can focus entirely on your health and wellbeing. I want you to walk again, and I want you to dance again, but I can't accomplish that here. My dear heart, hear me, please. I can't do it here, at Iskall Slott."

Anna was arrested by the determination in Elsa's gaze. She took a breath, and swallowed, and asked, "Where would you take me, Elsa? All the way to London?" Her heart deflated at the mere idea of such a journey, to a city she associated with both sunshine and despair. It was so very far!

Her therapist's smile somehow became even more generous and full. She continued to hold Anna's ankle, unmoving, grounded. Anna's nerves continued to fizzle and bend. "I would take you even further yet, my lady, away from the hustle and bustle of London. I would take you to Scarborough, my lady."

"Scarborough."

"Yes, dearest, Scarborough." Elsa said these words even as she shuffled forward a little and lifted Anna's pant legs, exposing her bruised knees. She oiled her hands and began to work the tendons under Anna's knees. "Scarborough has been a resort town in northern York for some time now, and has a collection of thermal baths. The facilities in London are overcrowded with servicemen, Anna. A newer facility has just been built, since the end of the war, in Scarborough. This facility, though distant from the capital, has residences for nobility, and offers all these treatments.

"Anna, I want you to walk again. And I truly believe that a facility such as this, where you could exercise your legs safely in the water, and release the pressure that walking would put on your spine, would speed the process along."

A bubble of hope inflated Anna's chest. Soon after Elsa had arrived she had told herself to stop wishing to walk again. She had told herself that she didn't need to walk in order to be the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss. It was better not to hope.

But now hope was renewed; hope put hooks in her heart at Elsa's words, hope that was small yet effervescent and perfect like champagne bubbles on her tongue. It was hope that suddenly tugged on all those secret and unspoken dreams. It was the way that flowers hoped for nightfall, and hoped for moonlight...

Anna looked at Elsa, working there on her unfeeling knees. And Anna allowed herself a moment of dreaming and imagination.

To feel her knees again. To stand on her own two feet. To walk the grounds, and the aisles of the garden with her daughters-in-law. To dance with her last remaining son by the lights of the Christmas tree. These were such simple things, yet she had taken them for granted all the years of her life. Oh, if only they could be hers again!

Anna leaned against the headboard, thinking about water, wondering. Hoping. Dreaming.

And she suddenly realized something.

Anna sat bolt upright, and gave a surprised and delighted hiss. Her hands grabbed the sheets, holding them tight. "Stop right there, Elsa!"

Elsa looked scared and surprised, and suddenly stopped all her movement. "Anna?" she asked, her words small and frightened.

A broad grin erupted on Anna's face, like a veritable volcano of joy. Her heart cracked wide open, spilling forth hope and happiness. She reached down with her right hand and put her hand on top of Elsa's, there on her knee.

"Oh my dear god," Anna breathed, wonder and amazement coating her tongue with sweetness, with gloss. "I _feel_ you."

One heartbeat. Three more. All of Anna's awareness was concentrated on the slender digits of her hand, how she pushed into Elsa's hand that was upon her knee. She slipped her thumb underneath the knee joint and felt that, too.

She actually _felt_ it. Against all odds, she felt something against her skin!

A lump arose in Anna's throat. Her nerves bubbled and popped. Joy appeared like primroses on distant mountain slopes, like a ray of moonlight caught in her everlastingly young hands.

"Elsa," she said. "I feel you. I feel _this._ "

Elsa's eyes widened. Delight rose like dawn on her face. Very deliberately she moved her free hand and ran the edge of her blunt fingernail down Anna's calf muscle.

Anna saw it. What's more, Anna _felt_ it.

Before she could burst into happy tears, Elsa suddenly commanded, "Close your eyes."

Anna closed her eyes. She felt Elsa's nail run down the skin of her leg; it caused a shiver to cascade through her body. Before she could dissolve into pure exultation, the feeling diminished, until she felt nothing at all. A few moments passed, and she waited to feel something, anything.

"All right, you can open your eyes again."

Anna opened her eyes, which immediately filled with happy tears. "Elsa, I still feel you. I feel this!" She caressed her knee again, and felt the blurred edges of her touch.

The tears began to stream down her cheeks, and she didn't lift a hand to stop them.

She only looked up, and into the candlelit universe of Elsa's eyes.

A red blanket, and an icy morning upon the mountains of India. An aged monk, telling Elsa that she was a gift to the world.

Anna delved deep inside herself, though she remained perfectly conscious, perfectly _present_.

This was the moment.

This very moment was the one she had agonized over. When the headaches made her throw up in a basin, when the bedsores burst in pus and blood under her buttocks and shoulders, when the surgical scars radiated heat and lightning; those nights she had spent drugged and incoherent, mourning her dead husband, her dead past, her rotten future; those mornings she couldn't bear to open her eyes one more time; all her pain and all her fear and all her agony was a testament to this one moment, this candlelit harmony between kindred souls, this woman sitting before her, holding her knee in her hands, and this sensation, this remarkable and incredible sensation of skin against skin.

Part of Anna realized that she had never truly expected to feel this sensation again. She had actually buried her true hope next to the severed corpse of her husband, letting it rot in the graveyard of her broken dreams.

This. This was her resurrection.

Elsa Wolff was holding her right knee in both of her hands. Her face was upturned to the candlelight. Her eyelashes were bedewed.

Anna squeezed Elsa's hand, and her own knee, once more, just for the pure joy of it. She closed her eyes once again and gloried in the feeling of their conjoined hands on her knee. She could feel the bounty of her smile, the harvest of her utter joy on her face.

When Anna finally opened her eyes again, all she could see was Elsa.

Elsa's face was aglow with delight. Her eyes sparkled and danced. Love and joy reverberated from her radiant skin.

Yet Elsa seemed so weary, like she carried the burden of a million secrets on her shoulders. How did moonlight feel, having witnessed so many doomed ages of man? Having seen such tragedy, such horror, and such ineffable delights? Surely the moonlight itself would be much the same: so compassionate, so aged, and so tired.

Anna Arendelle, Baroness of Skaldenfoss, opened her eyes and knew something without knowing it. She knew that Elsa had come home again, yet she had come home altered forever. Something else had happened while she was with her Master in London. Elsa had some knowledge, some memory that acted as a gravity to love, a weight to her eternal spirit. There was a counterbalance to her celestial nature.

Anna knew it, but had no words to speak of it. There were no words for such as this. Only knowledge, deep in her bones.

Could one truly speak of love, and of mourning? Such things could only be felt, and never spoken of. Some things transcended language altogether.

Anna had to say something. They could not stay in this stasis forever. Better that she break the skin of this moment, for this moment meant everything to her. Better that she break it, and carry the scar upon her, for she could fathom no hurt to come upon her therapist, her Elsa.

Her future self trembled on the edge of this abyss. To fly? To fall? She didn't care which, as long as this woman was by her side.

"Whatever the cost. Whatever the obstacle. I don't care what it is. Get us to Scarborough, Elsa," Anna softly said. She still had her hand on Elsa's hand. She wrapped her fingers around that hand, and her still prescient knee, and repeated, "Elsa, we will go to Scarborough. Together."


	12. Chapter 12 - Journey

**Chapter Twelve – Journey**

The following morning came. Anna was brought her breakfast, which she ate alone in her bed. Johan came to visit her as she was finishing her toast, and she hid the news of her regenerating nerves. Night-time and candlelight had provided a perfect womb to the discoveries of the night before; daylight was harsh and unforgiving. When he came to see her, Anna found she could not speak of it. She could not utter her hopes, for her fears lay directly underneath.

It had already proved to be temporary, this sensation of touch upon her knees. When she had woken up this morning, her knees were blurry again. What if Elsa could do no more for her than this? What if Scarborough was just a dream, a fantasy, a phantasm to pass momentarily across her consciousness?

Anna found she needed the idea of Scarborough. She needed the mere thread of freedom for her legs and feet. She needed it, because the pain was still too great, her nerves still so fragile, her spirit still so changeable and weak.

Johan kissed her cheek, and Elsa came for morning rehabilitation, and her day continued as if there had been no great ten-day interruption. Yet there was a sense of deepened connection between she and her nurse, a sense of the gulf that had separated them. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder, and Anna blessed each moment she spent in Elsa's presence, even when she was grunting with the effort of her leg extensions in the morning rehabilitation.

The memory of Elsa's touch on her knee sustained her. The memory of Elsa's arms wrapped around her was like a magic talisman, to wave through the air and make every-day moments magical. The idea of Scarborough was moonlight, sifting through all her veins, bringing her hope, bringing her power.

The days began to pass. Anna eagerly slipped into her former routine, though Elsa now introduced new exercises for her. Twice a day she would urge Anna down from her bed and onto a thin mat she laid upon the floor. Then she would ask Anna to breathe in a deep and rhythmic way as she moved her legs and body into strange and unknown positions that she called 'asanas'. Hours they spent in this and in more familiar rehabilitation.

Every day Elsa challenged her more, pushing her body harder and harder. She was near merciless in the rehab, daring Anna to work on her abdomen and arms while Elsa worked on her ankles, knees, and legs. There were two massages a day, one in the morning after the rehab, and one in the evening before bed. Anna often bathed twice a day as well, and Gerda was kept busy helping her change from her 'workout gear', as Elsa called it, to her daytime and dinner dresses.

All of this greatly increased her appetite, and not just for food. The harder she worked with Elsa, the longer she was able to sit with her son and daughters-in-law. She took more teas with the family, and more walks around the grounds, and even went down into the village to meet with the interim director of the War Widows Fund, a willing and somehow fiery Helene in tow.

Yet pain was a companion as loving and constant as her nurse. Never did a single day pass without pain of some sort, her muscles aching, and that low-grade headache occasionally spitting and biting with maligned fury. Yet she never had such pain as the day Elsa had received the news of her Master, and they hadn't resorted to using laudanum, either.

Seven days after Elsa had returned from London, she came to Anna with good news.

It was evening, and Anna had just come up from dinner with the family and noble guests from a neighbouring estate. Elsa came into the room shortly after Anna had returned from dinner; her lady was still seated in her wheelchair before her dressing table, and Gerda was assisting her with her gloves and her jewellery.

Elsa looked at her lady and her mouth went dry with admiration, and her heart suddenly lubbed thick and hard in her breast. Anna looked stunning this evening, her hair delicately wrought in many small braids before being caught up in a net of pearls that brilliantly offset the white streak in her hair. Gerda was bustling next to her, starting to take out the pins that held the net in place.

Elsa was arrested in place; paralyzed by the sight of this beauty before her. She could see Anna's face in the mirror; her lady had her eyes mostly shut, and she seemed to be breathing quite deliberately. Elsa knew her lady must be in considerable pain after the events of the evening.

Relief of that pain would soon come. Elsa would do everything in her power to rid Anna of it.

But for now it was a blessing just to look at this woman, and appreciate her. Not only the sight of her, as Gerda pulled the net aside and those small braids cascaded down over her lovely neck, but also to appreciate the waves of strength and peace that radiated from her. Just standing there Elsa could feel Anna's fierce contentment. She was an invalid no longer. Even in this wheelchair she was the Dowager Baroness, and she was capable of all things.

Just then, Anna opened her eyes and looked right at Elsa through the mirror.

Elsa blushed as she was caught staring.

Anna's gaze was clear and strong, with no sign of embarrassment or shame. For several moments they simply stared at each other. Anna's eyes grounded her, made Elsa feel equally fierce, equally strong.

It was Gerda who shattered the moment. "Doesn't our lady look so lovely this evening?" she asked as she began to unplait the braids.

Elsa moistened her lips before speaking the truth. "Indeed, Lady Skaldenfoss is the loveliest woman I have ever seen." She saw Anna's own cheeks begin to flush with colour, and her lady smiled in acceptance of the compliment.

Gerda saw it all, and felt the first clang of wonder and warning in her heart. The faithful servant could perceive something growing and changing between lady and nurse, though both of these women seemed to be desperately oblivious to it.

Yet she would say nothing, do nothing to break the bond growing between this lady and this most dedicated therapist, for Gerda adored Anna Arendelle and would do nothing to harm her. Gerda herself would give Elsa Wolff any gift, reward her in any way possible and still it would not come close to absolving the debt she felt.

For Gerda was convinced that Elsa had saved Anna's life. If Elsa had not come to them, her dearest lady would have perished, one way or another. Gerda didn't know how she knew this, yet she did; she felt it as a truth as deep as her own connection to her husband, Kai.

So if Anna needed this more intimate connection with another person, even another woman, Gerda would do nothing to bruise it. Anna had been lonely enough, these thirty years, chained by marriage to a man who had repeatedly cheated on her. Anna knew about Baroness Falk, but Gerda didn't think she knew about all the others.

A low and gritty anger burned inside her heart, and she forced it away, for Hans was dead now, and could do no more harm.

"Gerda?" Elsa asked, bringing Gerda back to the present moment.

"Yes?"

"I would be pleased to take over for you. I see that my lady is in pain, and I would give her a scalp massage."

Gerda did not miss the sudden elation in Anna's eyes, though nothing else in Anna's aspect changed. It was yet another confirmation of the idea that had sprouted in Gerda's mind. _They will not be only lady and therapist forever. They will unite before being torn apart._ Sorrow for Anna's eventual broken heart filled Gerda's throat.

"My lady?" Gerda asked, to confirm what she already knew Anna's answer would be.

"Yes please, Gerda. Miss Wolff can assist me with the hair and with disrobing. You may spend the rest of your evening in peace."

"As you wish, my lady. Miss Wolff, would you be so kind as to hang up my lady's dress?"

"Of course."

Elsa had already dissolved some headache medicine in a cup of water, and dimmed the lights before putting wood on the fire. Gerda bobbed a curtsey and left the room, looking back between lady and nurse just one more time before closing the door on them, giving them privacy.

Elsa gave the medicine to Anna, who solemnly gulped it down before setting aside the glass. "I'm glad you're here," Anna said quietly, simply.

"Shall I continue with your hair, or do you have more urgent requests?"

"You may continue with my hair. Take your time, Elsa. I need your peace and stillness just as much as I need the immense talent of your hands."

Pleased and somewhat surprised at Anna's words, Elsa stepped up to the wheelchair and began to pluck apart the braids, stroking Anna's head as she did so. Anna closed her eyes again and slightly slumped in her chair. It gave Elsa full permission to gaze upon Anna's glory; her gown was fashioned in the latest style from London, and left part of her shoulders bare. The fabric was lush on Anna's skin, the bead-work divine. Elsa had never owned a dress quite like this one, and doubted she ever would.

She worked in silence, picking apart the braids and gently stroking Anna's scalp. As she worked, she visualized the Black Sea, one of the calmest seas she had ever personally encountered. She held the sensation of that sea and its beaches inside her as she worked, hoping that its peace would radiate from her, to help pacify the tempest in her lady's body.

Once the braids had been released, Elsa gently combed out Anna's hair. The change in movement seemed to bring Anna out of her reverie; her lady opened her eyes and looked slightly fresher than before.

It made disrobing and dressing Anna in her nightgown much easier, and soon Anna was tucked between her sheets, seated tall against the headboard. Elsa took her place at Anna's feet, oiled her hands, and began to rub.

A short time later, Elsa spoke up, deeming it time to share her news so that they could make their plans. "My lady, I have had a response today from the facility in Scarborough."

"Go on, then."

"The stars are aligning for us, my dear, for I learned that they are expecting one of their long-term residents to finish their wellness regime in the next week. Despite there being a waiting list for the resort in general, we have climbed to the top of that list because our need is greater than the average noblewoman who only wishes to take to the baths for general health and diversion. Though," and here Elsa lightly chuckled, "I may have used all my powers of persuasion to convince them of our need."

"You can be rather persuasive when you put your mind to it," Anna dryly replied. "I am the Baroness around here, yet I seem to obey you rather readily."

"You're a good girl," Elsa dared say in jest, so glad to see this part of Anna's personality come out in private moments.

Anna stuck her tongue out at her. Elsa laughed aloud as she continued further up Anna's ankle and calf.

"So. The facility is rather small, and inundated with requests, but we are to receive the space that comes open. It seems quite expensive to me, my lady, at least by my humble reckoning, but the package includes food, private lodging, and complete access to the baths, pools, and grounds of the resort."

Anna seemed about to ask something, but Elsa continued, "The one shortcoming is this, my lady. You may take only one attendant with you. The space they offer is a small apartment. It has a private sitting room and dining area, a private bathing chamber, and two small bedrooms. Maids and other servants, such as myself, would generally reside in the accompanying cottages, but one cottage is under reconstruction, and the other cottage is full. They are building additional cottages, but they are not ready. The town itself is not large, the facility is on the edge of the town, and it would not be easy to house other servants."

Anna looked steadily at her as she took all this in. Then she took a breath and said, "What you are saying is that I can only take you with me. Gerda will not be able to join us."

"That is exactly what I am obliquely saying," Elsa said, with a smile for Anna understanding the situation. "While I cannot hope to match Gerda's skill in hairdressing or mending, I can certainly help to dress you and take care of you. The resort has also offered the services of one of their own maids when we need extra help." Elsa paused in her speaking, though not in her firm manipulation of Anna's muscles. "I have also spoken with Dr. Lund. I saw him earlier this week, and he believes that there is merit to the idea, though he is sceptical about a complete cure. To be honest, my lady, I think he doesn't want to get your hopes up, only to be disappointed should it not work."

"And what do you think?"

Elsa looked up from her contemplation of Anna's legs. She held Anna's skin, though Anna could not feel it, and said, "I think we must take this chance. But it would mean parting from your family, possibly for some time. I have done a lot of research in the last seven days, my lady, even after all my conversation with my Master concerning your situation. This won't be easy, and it won't be quick. It will take _months_ , Anna. Progress will be slow and painful. Your body will be confused as the nerves continue to regenerate and heal. You are feeling phantom pain in your legs even now, and this will continue, and likely intensify. I don't want to upset you, but neither do I want you to go into this experience blindly. I do think that, if we work hard, we can make something happen. But it won't be a walk in the park, my lady."

Anna absorbed all of Elsa's words. She took a moment of silence, and tried to picture this facility, and how she would live with Elsa as her only constant companion. No Gerda. No Johan. No Lily or Helene or grandchildren. Months of pain, months of progress. So much silence, so much solitude. No duty to anyone but herself, and this one woman.

Anna thought of Elsa's sacrifice. She could be on her way to India even now, her Master's ashes in her steadfast hands.

But Elsa had chosen her.

So Anna would choose this.

Anna Arendelle opened her mouth and said, "I'll put my pain on the scales, Elsa. I'll gamble it all in the hopes of a better future. As long as you are there with me."

"I mean what I said when I returned to Iskall Slott, my lady. I am yours as long as you want me."

Anna had to bite back the response that came instantly to her lips and mind.

 _I will always want you, Elsa!_

Instead, Anna said, "Make the arrangements, Elsa. Accept the apartment, and all the conditions. I don't want to let this chance slip through my fingers. I'll talk to Johan and Lily, and make everything all right." She paused, and then asked, "Certainly we can come home for Christmas?"

Elsa grinned as she finished rubbing Anna's legs before tucking them back under the sheets. "Of course, my lady, and other times as needed. Once we rent this apartment, it will be our home for the next six months or more. To go or stay as needed and required. If you can withstand the journey and sea voyage, we can return to Iskall Slott as we wish in the months ahead. It's a resort, not a prison."

Anna chuckled as Elsa got up, stretched, and then sat down again, closer to Anna's hands and elbows. She dapped eucalyptus essential oil onto Anna's palm and began to work it in.

Silence descended. It was October now, and the evening was chilly. A fire snapped and giggled in the grate of her bedchamber. The light was warm and welcoming. Everything around her was serene save for a cramp that delved into Anna's lower back; she controlled a wince, and stayed silent.

And Elsa, for once, was oblivious, so diligent was she on Anna's hands.

After some time, Anna softly asked, "What are you thinking about, Elsa?"

Elsa lifted her head. She looked tired, and worn out, and suddenly wary. It was the same face Anna had momentarily seen just before Elsa had received the news of her Master. Anna held her breath and hoped that Elsa would speak.

In a moment, Elsa graced her with a small smile and answered, "I was thinking about a certain thunderstorm I saw once, my lady. Did I ever tell you that I used to love thunderstorms?"

Anna shook her head as she instantly wondered what had happened; why Elsa would not love these storms any longer. She dared not speak. She only waited.

"I remember watching them come across the prairie," Elsa said, her voice so low it was nearly lost amid the crackling of the flames. Her face was lifted in memory. "It amazed me that the sun could be shining behind me, painting the prairie grasses a vivid green and gold, and there would yet be such piles of darkness before me as the storm advanced. The thunderheads reared in the sky like wild horses, ready to stampede across the plains. Their teeth would be lightning, their hooves the thunder."

Elsa oiled her hands and took Anna's other palm, to continue the massage. "I've never told you this, my lady, but I first came to Norway in 1912. In fact, I was visiting County Vestfold."

Anna actually sat up a little taller in her bed at this surprising piece of news. "Really, Elsa?"

Elsa flashed her a smile before continuing, her voice still low and contemplative. "It's so strange to think of it now, how I could have been so close to Iskall Slott, never knowing the future connection I would have with this place. It's always strange to think of the future, places and people we might encounter, the impact we might have upon their lives…"

When the pause lengthened, Anna asked, "Could you tell me any more, Elsa?"

"I guess I'm telling you this because you need to know something before we go to Scarborough. I'm… I'm quite terrified of sea voyages. They are very difficult for me, both physically and emotionally. My recent journey to London… I was wracked with seasickness, and meditated frequently, my lady, for safety upon the seas. I, well…"

Anna reached out with her hand to hold Elsa's hand, thereby halting her massage. Surprised, Elsa looked at her.

"Is it because of what happened to your family?" Anna asked. "You told me there had been a shipwreck, and that is how you lost your mom, and your brother."

Elsa stared at her for a moment, her breath seeming high and fast. But then Elsa seemed to take one long deep breath and said, "You have a good memory, Anna. It is so. Sea voyages… make me very nervous. I was in a storm upon the sea, once. The memory still haunts me to this day."

"At least we'll be together this time," Anna said. "I'll help you, Elsa, I promise."

There was a startled blush in Elsa's cheeks, making her young and vulnerable. Anna's heart lurched to look at her this way.

"I'm glad of that," Elsa replied as she squeezed Anna's hand before resuming the massage. "Back to what I had been saying earlier, I was in Larvik in 1912, and saw Iskall Slott on the hill. I remember wondering about this place and the people who lived here. Never knowing that my path would eventually wind back here, that my life would become so enmeshed with the lady of this estate."

Elsa looked right at Anna and smiled. "It's a good thing we can't see the future, Anna. Perhaps it's a very good thing that we can only see a few steps ahead of us at a time, and the rest of the journey is on faith. Faith is a muscle like any other, and has to be exercised. Sometimes faith is all that props up my bones."

She paused in her words and in the massage, lending gravity to the moment. "You are showing incredible faith right now, my dear. In trusting my treatment, in letting me take you away from this place, from your family."

Anna absorbed those words, and then she spoke. "I wouldn't have, just seven weeks ago," Anna breathed. "My life had been sound and fury before you came. You brought peace and calm and joy back into my life. No, we can't see the future, but we can make predictions based on evidence. I've come a long way, Elsa, all in the patient palms of your hands. Of course I'm wiling to go further, all on faith."

Elsa smiled again and resumed the massage. She opened her mouth as if to speak when a knock came on the door. Johan immediately entered with Lily on his heels.

Anna blew out her breath. She had forgotten to tell Elsa that her children would visit her before bed. The soft and friendly mood between she and Elsa immediately vanished, leaving only wisps of companionship and warmth. Elsa controlled her surprise as she looked between them all, and then she asked, "Shall I leave you for the evening, my lady?"

Wishing she could explain, wishing she could say something, anything, all Anna could do was respond. "Yes, that will be all for tonight, Elsa, thank you," Anna replied, masking the heaviness of her voice as she masked the unrevealed pain in her lower back.

Elsa gave her hands one last hidden caress before rising. She gathered her things, inclined her head to Lord and Lady Skaldenfoss, and smiled at her lady before she left the room.

Johan took the vacated chair while Lily sat on the edge of the bed. "I see you've finally decided to call her by her name," her son said. "I'm glad of it, mamma."

"I know, I resisted it long enough. It is certainly right to use her name now, after all we've been through." She settled back against her headboard and they began to converse, continuing some of the topics that had arisen in the dinner earlier.

The talk was dear and lively for a time, though Anna felt a growing need to share her own news with them. Finally an appropriate space in the conversation appeared. Anna cleared her throat and said, "I have news of my own to share, dear ones. Elsa has found a new treatment for me, one that might enable me to learn how to walk again."

Both of their faces brightened, though Johan still looked guarded as Anna outlined everything that Elsa had told her. She told them of the resort in Scarborough, the pool where she would swim and exercise, and the little apartment that had been offered, though only one attendant could go with her.

Then, gauging it was time to tell her son and his wife the truth, Anna revealed that her nerves had been regenerating, that she felt pricks and needles down her legs. She didn't tell them about the one moment she had been able to feel Elsa touching her knee, but she told them the rest. Anna also told them that these new sensations were not without their dark side, for the pricking of her nerves was constant and irritating, jangling her senses, and pain was still her constant companion, continually gnawing on her muscles and bones.

By the time she finished speaking, Johan and Lily looked cautiously optimistic. Which is exactly how Anna felt herself. "How long would you be away?" Lily asked.

"Six months to start with. Possibly more."

Shock began to register on their well-bred faces. "Six months?" Johan repeated.

"Six months or more," she firmly replied. "This isn't like repairing an automobile, Johan. Elsa has warned me that considerable pain lies ahead of me. But she truly believes that I may walk again." Anna allowed a note of wonder to enter her voice. "Imagine that, my son. Walking. Dancing. Every part of my former life, back within my grasp. I'll do it. Whether it takes six months or more, I'll do it."

"You'll have everything except dad," he said quietly.

Anna looked at him.

And her heart broke for him, and his loss. His innocence, in the face of truths she had never spoken of. He was a grown man, couldn't she just tell him the truth?

Another cramp bit deeply into her lower back. It was where a piece of wreckage had landed upon her, pinning her to the snowy ground. Hans had been nearby, a blade of glass through his throat, silencing him forever. He would keep no more secrets, tell no more lies.

"You're right. I'll have everything back except your father. Because some things don't come back at all."

"Do you even miss him? You never talk about him."

Anna wished she could think of the good times. Of holding Johan in her arms after he had been born, and having Hans stand next to her. His hand had been on her shoulder. He had kissed her unmarked forehead. Anna wished she could think of Hans standing next to her at their children's graves, Heidi and Leif. The sunlight had been so bright on them during their regular pilgrimage to the cemetery in Larvik. Those had been good moments, though weighted with much sorrow.

But Anna could also see Hans' naked back thrusting away, and the ecstatic face of Baroness Falk, there in his dressing room chamber while they believed her away.

Anna took a deep breath. "Johan, there is something you should know. I would tell you something, so that you may understand why I feel the way I do. My son, Hans cheated on me three years ago. I caught him in the very act of having sex with another woman. Right there, in his dressing room chamber." Anna's voice trembled as she saw his face go ashen.

Johan reached for Lily's hand, and she took it in silence.

"Dad did that to you?" Johan asked, his voice incredulous.

"Yes, he did. With one woman, certainly. Maybe with even more."

Pause. Anna stared at his face, trying to understand the emotions that flickered there.

But then.

"There were more," Lily quietly said.

Both Anna and Johan looked at her in shock. "What?" Anna asked.

"Helene told me," Lily said, her own voice trembling, her face white. "She had gone to the library late one night, for she had been unable to sleep. She found Hans there, and he was drunk. He told her that you had shut him out of your room, for you had caught him cheating. Helene tried to leave, she didn't want to hear his confession, but he was very drunk. He told her that you were oblivious, for all the years of the marriage you had been oblivious, for he had cheated on you many, many times. There was a certain establishment in Oslo, where he and his friends used to go after the _Storting_ parliament finished for the evening…"

Anna covered her face with her hands and began to weep. Deep down, she had known. It wasn't just the one time. Damn him!

"Mamma?" she heard Johan ask.

"Give me a moment," she whispered behind her closed eyes.

He pressed a clean handkerchief in her hands, and she used it to cover and dab at her eyes.

And while part of her wanted to dismiss them both, to leave her to her shame and her anger, Anna decided to have them stay. Let them witness this. Let them all pass through this truth together.

So Anna wept, breathing through her anger, her grief, her feeling of betrayal. She wished Elsa were here, to hold her and comfort her.

That she thought of Elsa in this way was sobering, and Anna tucked the thought away for later consideration.

A short time later, Anna felt able to open her eyes and look at her children. "Is there more to tell?" she asked Lily.

"Only that Hans swore Helene to secrecy, but she could not bear the burden of his lies. She told me a few days later, and we carried this truth together. We debated telling you, but then you and Hans made up. And with his death, we thought we would never have to mention it."

"You wouldn't even tell me?" Johan asked, a tinge of anger in his voice.

Lily glared at him. "Would you have me break my word, Johan?"

He deflated under the fierceness of her gaze. "No, of course not. At least now I know." He looked at Anna, a complex mixture of grief and anger on his face. "It helps to know this, mamma. I understand much better now. I suppose you had your reasons for keeping this from me. But I want to thank you for telling me the truth."

"I do miss him sometimes," Anna said, wiping her eyes one last time. "Just as I miss Leif, and Heidi. Our family… we have lost so much!"

"Like we would have missed you," Johan said, his voice slightly wild. "It was just seven weeks ago, mamma, when you started slipping away from us. When you turned your back on the world and wanted to die. I don't forget so easily. You need six months to walk again? Take it. I want my mother back." His words were so fierce, so heartfelt!

It hurt to hear him tell the truth, to speak of her death wish. How low she had been, how despairing!

"I am coming back, Johan," she said quietly. "But I might not come back the same person. What I went through… the mother you once knew doesn't even exist anymore. I think that Anna died in the accident, just like your father.

"But this Anna, this mother I am now, the mother I still will become… I am as proud of you now as I have ever been. Johan, my dearest son, you continually amaze me. You have taken over the management of this estate with grace and with courage. You've made mistakes, but you've learned from them. Your father would be proud of you. As I am so very proud."

His eyes reddened, but stayed clear of tears. Lily squeezed his hand.

Love for both of them rose strong and mighty in her chest, like Elsa's prairie thunderstorm. Darkness and light, all in one, a perfect harmony.

"Certainly, Anna, you would come home for Christmas," Lily finally ventured.

"Of course, my dears. It's a resort, not a prison, as Elsa reminded me. Yes, we'll come home for Christmas."

Fragile silence, thin as cobwebs. Thin as Anna's hopes and dreams.

"We'll miss you," Lily said. "I'm glad for this chance for you, but don't think for a moment that you won't be missed."

Anna wasn't prepared for the vehemence in Lily's voice. It brought tears to her throat.

"I'll miss you, too."

…

The next morning when Elsa appeared in her lady's chambers, she immediately noticed that something was troubling Anna deeply. Her lady was unusually reticent and withdrawn. Elsa asked only if it had to do with their upcoming trip to Scarborough, and Anna said no. And Anna said nothing further. It hurt Elsa quite deeply to be kept out of Anna's confidence, but as she conducted the morning rehabilitation in uncommon silence, Elsa told herself that this is surely how Anna must feel every time Elsa would not open up.

It was sobering, and Elsa made an internal vow to take off her 'gloves' the moment they got to Scarborough. The privacy of their own apartment, the even greater amount of time they would spend in each other's company; the environment would be perfect for confidences and friendship.

If that's what Anna wanted. This morning, Elsa wasn't so sure.

Still, Anna instructed Elsa to send their acceptance to the resort in Scarborough that very day. In the hours not in her lady's company, Elsa began making a myriad of other arrangements, the transport of their luggage and possessions, the relaying of the construction plans for a new massage table for their apartment in Scarborough, and stocking of all the various medical supplies, lotions, oils, and herbs she enjoyed using.

She also stocked ginger for her inevitable sea-sickness, and hoped she would not vomit in front of her lady.

For her part, Anna took on the arrangements for the voyage itself. When the ocean liner tried to put Elsa Wolff in third class with the other servants, Anna completely balked, and demanded conjoining rooms on the first class deck. She would not be parted from Elsa in such a cavalier and empty fashion. Besides, if Elsa was nervous about the voyage, then Anna wanted to be near her, to help her. She cared not a whit for the extra expense; Elsa deserved to enjoy first-class services. She gave first-class service herself.

Besides, if Anna needed her in the middle of the night, it would be far easier to ring for her with these adjoining chambers.

Their departure was set for only six days hence; six days that passed in a flurry of packing and preparation. Lily and Ingrid met up in Oslo to buy bathing costumes for Anna. It had been years since Anna had to purchase a bathing costume, and now she needed several of them. Her girls brought back boxes and boxes of costumes from Oslo. Anna tried them on and finally found four of them that fit well, were becoming enough, and could withstand the hard use about to be put to them.

Gerda seemed slightly upset and fearful for her job without Anna to serve. She was a lady's maid, after all, without a lady to serve. Anna reassured her, letting her know that she was valued and that her job was secure; the moment Anna came home, she expected to be waited upon. In the meantime, Gerda was to assist with other household duties. Anna also anticipated that Johan and Lily might be entertaining more of their friends and family with Anna away, and she charged Gerda with serving the various ladies that would be visiting Iskall Slott in her absence.

Gerda took the time to corner Elsa and give her instructions; mainly how Anna enjoyed her coffee and orange juice in the morning, how she liked the crust cut off her toast for breakfast, and which sort of caviar was best for her, and how much sugar she took in her afternoon tea. Elsa took all the suggestions well in stride, and occasionally wondered if she was up to the task. To have all of Gerda's duties as well as her own… it was good that they would have the services of a maid while they were in Scarborough. And the brief moments Elsa felt intimidated and insecure were few and far between; she reminded herself that the lady she served was pragmatic as well as practical and kind, and would forgive Elsa any lapses in her service.

Or so she hoped.

It was astonishing how fast those six days passed. Also astonishing was how Anna felt, twice more, the sensation of touch upon her feet, and upon her knees.

The day before their departure, there was one last pilgrimage to undertake. Elsa accompanied the family for the first time. She helped bundle Anna into the car, ensured that the wheelchair was strapped securely to the boot, and then she sat in the front seat with Kristoff while the family went to the local cemetery.

It had been months since Anna had visited the graves of her husband and children. She and Hans had gone at least once a month, up until the accident. But afterwards Anna had managed the journey only once, the week before Elsa came to her. She remembered the August sunshine pounding on her living skin, and yet her soul had already been dying inside!

Anna sat next to Lily, and shook those memories away by staring at the white-gold cable of Elsa's hair, pinned so neatly under her hat as they drove to the cemetery in Larvik.

Elsa had not been oblivious this week; she had been extra attentive and supportive, though she did not ask why Anna seemed so distant and wretched. For her part, Anna was still mentally reeling from the discovery of Hans' further infidelity; Lily's news had reopened old wounds, and she seemed unable to close them. At night, after Elsa left her, Anna wept into her pillow, wretched with loneliness, bereft and alone, convinced that she would spend the rest of her life in a similar fashion. She would never love, nor be loved, again.

Deep down, Anna was glad they were going to Scarborough. It would be good to get away from this place and all its memories.

They drove a short distance down into the village of Larvik, to the church, and then pulled into the adjoining cemetery. It was a typical blustery October day, with the skies completely streaked over with clouds. A brisk wind blew, scattering fallen leaves. They parked the car and Elsa again assisted in settling Anna in her chair.

And it was Elsa who pushed Anna in her wheelchair as they advanced through the cemetery. She felt honoured to join the family on this last visit of their lost loved ones before she and Anna left for Scarborough.

The graves were well-maintained, and all of them were situated right next to each other, and close to the grave of Hans' father. A gust of wind seemed to cut right to Elsa's skin, and she saw Anna shiver. Elsa bent down to ask if Anna wanted another blanket. Anna whispered yes, so Elsa rushed back to the car to get the spare. When she returned, she set it over Anna's lap, tucking it gently under her unfeeling legs. Anna thanked her in a small voice and gave Elsa's hand a quick squeeze.

Elsa's heart wrenched within her to feel that squeeze and to see the complex wash of emotions on Anna's worn face. She stood back to give the grieving family some privacy and watched Johan and the young women. Helene had a bunch of fresh flowers for Leif, which she reverently placed on her husband's grave. Lily had a similar bouquet for Heidi. For Hans, Johan had brought a wreath of ivy and rosehips. They all set down their offerings and softly spoke to each other, sharing memories and experiences. They all seemed to need this strange closure before Anna's departure.

Elsa watched, her lips closed, her heart open, her mind expanding with thought and wonder. All her attention was upon her lady, and her lady's family.

There was a secret here, something Anna held deep inside her. Over the weeks of her service, Elsa had noticed Anna's reticence in speaking of her dead husband. Elsa had begun to suspect that their marriage hadn't always been a shining example of loyalty and devotion. Elsa remembered what she had read of the times she now had to live in; that nobility often married for prestige and transfer of wealth or power, and that love wasn't always a pre-requisite for such alliances. It seemed barbaric and archaic to her, but evident even now in Anna's speech and in her silence.

Had the Baron cheated on her? The mere thought of it caused Elsa's heart to burn with fury. She wished she could ask Anna and know the truth, but she really could not. In this moment, Elsa knew her station, and her place. She was Anna's nurse, not her peer, not her partner, not even her close friend.

But Elsa felt something crack upon the old stone wards around her heart as she realized that she wanted at least one of these titles: she wanted to be Anna's friend.

Then she mentally shook a finger at herself and reminded herself to be grateful for what she had. To appreciate the fact that she was here, with Anna's family, and part of Anna's world.

So she watched Anna, and heard Anna say small beautiful things about each person, and her heart melted yet again for this lady she served. A partner was meant to be a companion as well as a lover; when had Anna experienced true friendship and companionship? If her spouse had not been her supporter and champion, her lover and her friend, whom had she relied upon? Or had she withstood the passage of the long years entirely alone?

Elsa Wolff thought of Catriona, the brief years of her own bliss, and felt grateful for them, even as her heart continued to quake and burn for Anna Arendelle and all that her lady hadn't been able to experience.

Some time later, Anna turned her head to look right at Elsa. Elsa did not need to see how Anna tapped her wrist, using the signal they had devised so long ago, for Elsa could easily see the paleness of her face and the hauntedness of her eyes. Her children were speaking to each other, and for the moment did not regard the Dowager Baroness. Anna looked right at Elsa, and mouthed, "Take me home, Elsa, please."

Elsa stepped forward, and with soft words broke into the family's grief, and bundled Anna back into the car. The company returned to Iskall Slott, back to the lives that had been reconstructed following the gaping holes of their losses.

…

The day of their departure swiftly came. Anna slept poorly the night before, filled with wonder and trepidation. On the morning of October 21, 1924, the family car was packed to the gills with all of their combined trunks and bags. The ground was rimmed with hard frost, and the gulls were shrieking above the turgid water of the strait. The entire family and Iskall Slott's contingent of servants gathered in the main entrance hall to see them off.

Her grandchildren eagerly climbed onto Anna's lap to kiss her cheeks and give her clumsy hugs. Her daughters-in-law hugged her and also kissed her cheeks. Johan embraced Anna as well before kissing her. "Be well, mamma," he whispered into her ear, unheard by anyone else.

Anna held her son close, feeling the strength of his shoulders, the patient fire of his character. "I love you, son," she whispered.

He took the handles of the wheelchair from Elsa Wolff and wheeled her out to the waiting car, and everyone followed them outside, forming a reception line. The staff waved for her, and Gerda blew her kisses. Kristoff was waiting by the car. Johan insisted on being the one to lift Anna into place in the back seat, though Elsa then tucked a blanket over her knees. Johan closed the door and then looked right at his mother's therapist.

Elsa Wolff had her thick white-gold hair cunningly twisted up on her head, exposing the length of her neck. Lily had often told him she hoped to look as young as Miss Wolff when she was over fifty years of age. While this therapist looked younger than her years, there were still fine lines by her eyes, and soft wrinkles by her mouth. However, when he looked into those deep blue eyes, he saw strength and determination there; if anyone could get his mother to walk again, it would be this woman.

Elsa stood there and accepted his gaze, never wavering. Johan's respect for this woman instantly climbed several notches higher.

"I'm putting my mother in your hands, Miss Wolff," he said quietly. "Take care of her."

"I love her, my Lord. I'll take very good care of her."

Johan stood back while Elsa took the front seat next to Kristoff. The family had spilled out of the house, and everyone started to wave as the car moved on out of the yard.

Hopes littered the ground between her and her family, her world. Anna could sense them, for they were shared hopes, shared dreams.

The Dowager Baroness waved back at her dear ones, tears pricking her eyes. She had heard every word Elsa said.

…

The first leg of their journey passed in relative discomfort and in silence as Kristoff drove them all the way from their home near Larvik to the capital of Oslo. Anna looked out the window at a countryside she had not seen for nearly a year. It seemed strange to her to see these rocky plains and fjords with such different eyes; her immense suffering of the past year had brought depth to that which she perceived, making this once-familiar journey unfamiliar and new.

But even this part of the journey wasn't without its pain; the back seat of the car was not as comfortable as her bed, or even her wheelchair. Pain began to twist and burn in her lower back, radiating up to her head. She was so weary, so empty!

The last time she had been upon this stretch of land had been when she was transferred from the hospital in Oslo back to Iskall Slott. She had been in the back of an ambulance, her legs encased in plaster casts, her head still bandaged along with her torso (oh that cracked rib), and she had only survived the journey by being drugged the entire time. Some time later, Anna had come to awareness only to discover she was in her own bedroom, her legs lifted in traction, her world distilled down to physical agony and spiritual despair.

She closed her eyes, and started to breathe through her pain, and her memories.

"Lady Skaldenfoss?" she heard Elsa ask from the front seat, a few minutes later.

Anna opened her eyes only to see Elsa looking back at her, immense concern writ clearly upon her face. "I'm all right," Anna said quietly.

Elsa's eyes flickered momentarily over to Kristoff, the meaning obvious. Was Anna being stoic in the face of their driver? "Truly?" Elsa mouthed, in silence.

Anna nodded and looked back out the window, confronting old demons with every kilometer even as the pain continued to carve furrows into her flesh.

She welcomed the pain, for it helped her bury her husband anew; with every kilometer, Hans became more ghost-like, his influence more ephemeral.

His lies, his disloyalty to be buried just as deep under the ground as he himself lay.

But even Anna could not know if his death would bring new life.

Had the Baroness Falk wept upon hearing of his demise? Just what had Hans Arendelle meant to this one woman, among many, whom he had loved?

Anna looked at Elsa, whose gaze had now returned to the journey ahead. She beheld the twist of white-gold hair, the length of neck now revealed. Anna saw how slender her shoulders were, and admired the dark-green colour of the dress and coat she wore.

And Anna Arendelle had a sudden premonition of the nature of home, and the nature of a journey; Iskall Slott was her home, and everything Scarborough represented was _not_ , yet the journey was important, for the _journey_ was Elsa Wolff herself.

Elsa had once called Anna her home.

But there was something about Elsa that could not be labelled likewise; for Elsa was not the land, immovable nor immense. No, Elsa could only be classified as changeable and immense as the sea.

For the sea itself was a _journey_ , one which shortly awaited her.

And who cared for any destination, when the _journey_ itself was so joyous?

…

Things were slightly chaotic at the harbour. Kristoff got them as close to the landing as possible before wrangling help from some of the ship's boys for all of their luggage. Elsa was brisk in loading Anna into her wheelchair and taking her on board. A ship's mate was there to check their tickets and direct them to an upper deck. A maid greeted them, and escorted them to their chambers.

Elsa thought of her passage in steerage just a few weeks prior. With the bunkbeds, with the rats. With her bucket nearby.

So she looked upon this luxurious apartment with all gratitude and joy, as the maid opened the doors and showed them their home for the next two to three days. Their apartment consisted of a sitting room, with a balcony that overlooked the sea, two bedchambers, one clearly larger and meant for the lady, and their own private bathing chamber.

The maid introduced herself as Marta and said she would be waiting on them throughout their journey.

"Good," Elsa said, quite crisply. She reached into her kit for her hot water bladder. "We have immediate needs. Fill this with near boiling water and bring it back as swift as you are able. Then we shall need tea, and sandwiches, unless other luncheon has been prepared."

Marta looked between Elsa and Lady Skaldenfoss, now slumped over slightly in her chair. Anna nodded, barely. Then Marta curtsied, took the bladder and left.

Kristoff and two ship's boys were right on their heels, bearing the first of several trips of luggage. "I'll tan the hide of anyone who makes a racket," Elsa hissed as she wheeled Anna into the larger private bedchamber. A smaller chamber adjoined it, which would normally have been the dressing room for the husband, but would be Elsa's quarters for the journey.

"How forceful you can be!" Anna chuckled weakly as Elsa took her right into the room and closed the door behind them. Her heart was soaring in spite of the pain that gnawed on her; once again this woman had proved to be her champion, her knight!

"Forgive me," Elsa said as she helped Anna move from the wheelchair to the bed.

"Though your threats might have been more useful, had they been spoken in Norwegian. Even the English you used was a bit… strange." Anna panted with the effort of moving from the chair to the bed. "Seriously, Elsa, tan their hide?"

"Did you expect anything else of a prairie girl? My lady, face the center of the bed. Don't worry, I won't muss your hair too badly. You probably don't want to miss us setting sail."

"You're right, I love the sound of the gulls, the people calling their farewells, have you no idea of the power of setting upon a journey such as this?" Anna asked as Elsa helped her lay on her side, facing the center of the bed. She placed her head carefully on the pillow. She winced and hissed in pain as Elsa arranged her legs and aligned her spine.

"I care not for the Internet, my next invention will be a portable massage table," Elsa hissed under her breath. "My lady, it is your back, is it not? What else pains you?"

Anna's head was abuzz with pain, so she barely marked what Elsa had said. "My back, yes. My head as always. Do you not enjoy casting off, Elsa? Does the journey ahead not delight you? The seas, are they not divine?"

Elsa was already undoing the buttons and laces of her dress, exposing her altered shift. "Unfortunately, my lady, there is very little of the sea-faring experience that I enjoy. Perhaps one day I shall tell you more of the tale of how I came to hate the ocean. But now, if I may be so bold as to ask, why are you being so glib? You are in pain but you seem so… happy."

"This is the first voyage I have taken in a very long time, and certainly the first as a free woman, unencumbered by husband and family, with such prospects of healing and joy and absolute freedom before me. I feel light as a feather… oh!"

Elsa had oiled her hands and she began to rub Anna's naked back. They could hear bumps and curses coming from their private lounge as Kristoff continued to monitor the unloading of the luggage. They listened for a time as Elsa continued to rub Anna's back. "So when does the hide tanning begin?" Anna asked as one of the sailors cursed rather loudly in Norwegian.

"Oh, I could attend to it this very moment," and Elsa lifted her hands away from Anna's back.

Anna glanced back at her. "Don't you dare! Hands front and center, Elsa Wolff."

"Yes, m'lady." Elsa resumed the massage and watched as Anna's body slowly began to relax.

And Elsa was filled with wonder and amazement for this new side of Anna Arendelle, a facet of her lady's character she had only glimpsed in small doses in the last seven weeks of their work together. Had it been the accident alone that had doused this part of Anna's spirit, or had the Baron done his part to control his wife and curb her spirits?

This carefree jubilation was something Elsa had rarely experienced; she felt the innocence of it like kitten claws in her heart.

Elsa's hands had trained Anna's body well; she could feel her lady grow softer as she continued to relax. Hopefully the pain was diminishing as well.

A knock soon came on the door; it was Marta with the hot water bladder. Elsa reluctantly took her hands off Anna's body to answer the door. "When do we cast off?" Elsa asked as she took the item.

"An hour hence, Miss Wolff."

"Thank you. Please deliver the tea and sandwiches in forty minutes." Elsa shut the door on the help and wrapped the hot water bladder against Anna's lower back, and then tucked her lady under the blanket and sheets. "Half an hour, my lady. Rest here for half an hour."

"M'kay. Do you have to go?" Anna asked. She must have detected something in Elsa's demeanour.

"Let me see to the luggage and fare Kristoff farewell. Then I'll return. I'll stay with you. Now. Rest, dearest heart."

"I will, if you come back to me." Her voice was already heavy, thick with clouds.

Elsa had to leash in the words that would have escaped her mouth, _I will always come back to you._ Instead, she said, "Two minutes, dear one."

"I will count every moment," Anna whispered.

Then she fell asleep.

Elsa stared at her. At her red hair, streaked now with grey. At the pale scar upon her temple. At the wizened, yet recuperating body underneath the sheets. As she looked at her lady, and felt the small movements of the ship on the water, even anchored as it was upon the harbour, Elsa cast a prayer to any deity that could be listening and asked, _please help her, please heal my lady, please bring her so much love and peace_.

As Elsa left the room to talk with Kristoff and the servants, she had no idea that she herself would be the answer. That she would be the one to bring so much love and peace.

And, in turn, she would receive the same from this lady who now slept before her.

For thus began their journey, the truest journey either of them would ever experience in their lifetimes.

So much love.

So much peace.

For such would be the greatest journey of all; to experience pain, to experience hardship, even to bare their very souls and have them stripped to the bone; and still find love and peace within.

For such is the journey of all.

...

Author's Note: This story has become my salvation. Dear readers, I'm having some difficult times, struggling a bit with life, love, and writing. If this story means anything to you, please leave a comment. I could use some positive energy just now. - Jen


	13. Chapter 13 - Memories

**Chapter 13**

 **Memories**

Even Elsa felt a stirring of excitement in her heart as she stood upon their private balcony a short time later. Anna was in her wheelchair right next to her, eagerly leaning forward to see over the railing. This was not to be a momentous departure, not like the doomed Titanic (Elsa forced her mind away from all thoughts of ship-wrecks), yet many people were still milling about on the quay, waving and calling out farewells.

Anna's short nap seemed to have completely revived her; her cheeks were filled with colour, her face young and joyous as she waved back at the anonymous crowds. Elsa had to stifle a grin as she glanced sideways at her lady; it seemed that being demure was not to be a requirement of this voyage.

The gangplanks were removed, the lines cast off, and the ship began to churn its way out of the harbour. Sun peeked through the gauzy grey tatters of cloud, and gulls were crying. Elsa felt the ship move underneath her, and focused her gaze on the harbour; already she felt sandwiches she had just eaten begin to grind and bend, and she sent a furious message from her brain to her abdomen to just _settle down_!

Anna finally stopped waving, but remained fixated on the changing coastline as it began to slip by, her face still so happy and free. This ship was larger than the one Elsa had taken only weeks ago, and barely rocked upon the calm waves of the strait. Elsa couldn't help herself; she looked to the ocean horizon where, twelve years ago, she had seen a most peculiar thunderstorm brewing.

When she looked back at Anna, she discovered that her lady was looking right at her, a mixture of concern and gaiety on her face. "You really don't like ships, do you?" Anna said.

"No, I really don't." Even as Elsa gave her reply, she could sense the curiosity in her lady. Not wanting to spill any lies, Elsa softened her stance and resumed looking out at the countryside that began to slip by faster and faster as the ship gained momentum. Anna also looked out, though she stole glances in Elsa's direction.

Only two hours later the ship neared a horrifically familiar location. Elsa had been seated, drinking ginger tea, while Anna continued to stay near the railing. This entire time, Elsa had held a fierce inner debate, wondering if she should hide in her room as she had on her previous journey to London. She wasn't sure if she could bear seeing this place, especially with her curious lady nearby.

Her Master would have chided her. Well, both Masters would have, the one from 2020 and the one from several weeks ago. It would be good for her to see this place, and confront her demons, wouldn't it? Hadn't she changed and grown enough as a person to be able to withstand these memories?

Anna had been amusing herself by ripping the crusts of her sandwiches into tiny crumbs and throwing them to the gulls that continued to swoop and cry beside the ship. Her attitude was still so childlike and delightful. Elsa wanted to feed on it, allow it to soften the loss and rage that was building inside her.

Elsa rose from her chair, feeling light-headed. Anna glanced over at her as Elsa resumed her place at the railing. Elsa's heart was filled with grief, and with anger. She had lost and suffered so very much, and yet more loss and even more suffering awaited her. Not the least being the eventual separation from this lady she served.

There it was. Verdens Ende. Elsa could just barely make out the jumble of rocks, and the tree.

Her hands gripped the railing even tighter. As, twelve years ago, she had gripped her mother's hand just as the cruise ship gave a mighty groan, nearly lost in the maddening bellows of the thunder. People had been screaming. Elsa remembered the shock and horror on her mother's face as they looked at each other for the last time.

A wave of dizziness passed over her; Elsa swayed. Her eyes were fixated on the Norwegian coast; she was drowning in memory. She could feel whiteness upon her face; her brow suddenly beaded in sweat.

The water had been so cold. There hadn't even been time to find a life raft. It all had happened so fast! The orange lightning, the monstrous roars of thunder, the cruise ship being ripped apart as if by the tentacled arms of a kraken. They had entered the water together, Elsa and her mother, screaming for Ivan and Julie, but the surge in waves had quickly torn them apart.

Was it possible that her mother and family had actually survived? Elsa didn't know, could never know. It didn't change the fact that she was here, stranded a century in the past, bereft and alone.

The hourglass of her life broken, the sand draining away.

Anna broke into her thoughts by calling her name. "Elsa," she said, rather firmly.

Elsa looked at her. Anna's face was flooded with concern. "Elsa, I want you to take a deep breath." Anna took a deep breath herself, as if demonstrating how it was done. Elsa started to take a breath, but it caught in her throat. A sheet of white paper covered her vision; she swayed once again.

Anna leaned forward. "You need to sit down. Right now. Do it at once." There was all sorts of Baroness in her words, and Elsa found herself obeying without question. She released the rail, her world _tilted_ , and she collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

Elsa came to an unknown time later. Someone was wafting smelling salts near her nose. Full consciousness eluded her; she barely opened her eyes and whispered, "Anna?"

"I'm here, Miss Wolff," she heard Anna reply. "Stay quiet, stay calm. This young man is going to carry you to your room."

Elsa closed her eyes again as she felt strong arms pick her up from the wooden decking, to carry her through their lounge and into her bedroom. Her head hurt from where she had struck the floor. Her mind was still swimming; reality didn't exist. In fact, none of this was real. How could it? Perhaps the last twelve years of her life had only been a dream, one that she could still wake from.

She barely noticed that Marta was there as well, darting ahead of them to turn down the covers of Elsa's bed. Elsa was tucked between the sheets. "Does she need the ship's doctor?" Marta asked as the ship's mate stepped away.

Elsa tried to wrangle her senses into some sort of coherence. There was such lovely concern in her lady's eyes, for Anna was right behind them, wheeling herself along in her wheelchair. "For the moment, no, I believe it was only a fainting spell. But I shall monitor her carefully and let you know if we require anything else." There was an unmistakeable note of finality in her tone, which Marta seemed to recognize.

The maid curtsied, and shooed out the ship's mate, and left Anna and Elsa alone.

Anna wheeled herself closer, now able to show the full range of emotion she had been forced to control while on the deck. "Oh, sweetheart," she said as she pulled the cover over Elsa's body. "Are you all right?"

"No," Elsa whispered, unable to bear the anxious concern in her lady's voice.

The grief she had been keeping at bay for years suddenly burst like a dam under pressure; Elsa turned her head into her pillow and burst into tears. Right there, in front of the anxious gaze of Lady Skaldenfoss, Elsa cried as she had rarely allowed herself to cry before. It was just all too much to bear; her Master's death, Catriona, the Spring Offensive of 1918, the shipwreck and being torn from her family and time…!

And when she blindly put out her hand, seeking comfort and grounding, she felt Anna take it in both of her own.

"I'm here, my dear one, you're not alone," she heard Anna whisper.

Elsa's sobbing intensified; she felt her losses anew. But even as she wept, her tears soaking the pillow, she could _feel_ Anna's presence, the softness of her hands, the constancy of her breath.

The lady from the postcard, the lady whose life she had saved, the lady she had come to admire and love.

 _Maybe I am not alone_ , Elsa thought.

Her crying eventually slowed, and sleep overtook her.

Anna felt it, the limpness of Elsa's hand, how Elsa's body relaxed into the sheets. She gently tucked that hand under the covers and slowly wheeled herself out of Elsa's room.

She went into the lounge but could not go out onto the deck without assistance, for there was a raised piece of wood on the floor as part of the door frame. She sat alone in the lounge, her mind whirling with worry and curiosity. Elsa had actually fainted. It had been horrifying to behold. Was it only the memory of a previous shipwreck, the one that had taken her family from her, that had caused this breakdown? Or was this the evidence of further stories that remained untold?

Anna desperately wanted to ask, to have Elsa's confidence, but knew she could not bear it should Elsa deny her.

So she sat alone, and considered how her heart had quaked and burned to see Elsa weep such tempestuous tears, and for such unknown reasons. A new depth of empathy carved its way inside her as she considered the times Elsa had seen her weeping. It was not easy to see the heartbreak and sorrow of another person, let alone someone she had come to love and respect.

But even worse was not knowing the depth of the cause; just what was it about ships that tormented Elsa so?

Or was Elsa's true torment even deeper, beyond the loss of her Master, or the nature of her work? With some chagrin, Anna realized that Elsa never spoke of her living family, the people who supposedly lived in a fishing village near Trondheim. Why was there such distance, or such reticence?

Anna thought of her own parents, long dead, and her younger sister who lived in America. She thought of her mother's family estate near Exeter and realized that these topics hadn't really come up.

Elsa Wolff was her therapist. Their time spent together was generally in silence or small talk, as they conducted rehabilitation or massage. But this woman was about to become her constant companion. They would live together, dine together, spend all sorts of hours together. Would this distance remain?

Anna vowed that it would not.

…

Elsa crept out of her bedroom several hours later, having missed afternoon tea. Anna was still in her wheelchair, a book in her hand. She set it aside and watched as Elsa came into the lounge. "How are you feeling, Elsa?" she asked.

Elsa looked a bit rumpled, though she had replaited her hair into the thick braid. She sat down on the couch next to her lady. "Embarrassed. Strangely tired. A bit of a headache, I must have hit my head when I fainted." She touched the side of her head with a wry smile. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Anna ventured.

Elsa looked at her, and was quiet for a moment. But then she opened her mouth and said, "I stayed in my room in steerage for most of my previous journey to and from London. My mind was occupied with thoughts of my Master. But today, having you nearby, I thought I could confront some of my demons. I guess I was wrong."

"Not all confrontations go as we plan," Anna said, thinking of how she had confronted Hans about Baroness Falk. That had not gone how she had planned at all. "Don't berate yourself, Elsa. Think instead of the courage I see inside you. I now know of the depth of your distaste for sea voyages. And yet here you are, taking me to London, and then on to Scarborough. You are doing so much for me. I am grateful."

Elsa tilted her head to look at Anna, her eyes soft. "I hadn't thought of it that way, my lady. Thank you for saying it." She then scanned Anna up and down. "We haven't had much rehabilitation today. How are you feeling?"

"I have a headache as well, as usual. There's pressure in my lower back, but it's not as bad as I feared. Dinner will come shortly. Perhaps after dinner we could have some rehabilitation, and as much as a massage as you can give without your remarkable table."

So they had dinner together in the lounge. As they ate and lightly conversed, Anna realized that, sandwiches at lunch notwithstanding, this was the first time they had shared a proper meal together.

Other firsts ensued over the next two days of their voyage to London. They played their first series of card games together the following afternoon (Anna won). They watched the sunset from their balcony the next evening. They hit rough seas, and Anna listened to Elsa throwing up in their little bathroom.

And when Anna couldn't seem to fall asleep the last night of their voyage, for she felt cricked and askew without the spinal adjustments that Elsa could only give upon the special table, Elsa stayed at her bedside to rub her hands and feet and told stories about India and her scholarship there. Anna felt transported in space and time to hear of the mountains, the village and its people; she learned about how Elsa gave her services freely to anyone who asked, and, in turn, was fed and clothed and housed. Anna learned of early morning meditation, and hours spent in the temple, incense swirling, the steady hum of the monks rising and falling in prayer.

It was enchanting to learn so much about this woman, and to hear of how Elsa had deepened her healing practices under the tutelage of her Master.

And then, as she curled upon her bed, her eyes finally closed and heavy with sleep, Elsa sung her a lullaby in Hindi.

She had never heard Elsa sing before. Elsa's voice was deep, magnetic, and soothing. Her voice was flawless as she sang these unknown words; it was a voice to wrap Anna in the softest down, where swans waited to carry her away to the land of sleep.

"Your voice is exquisite," Anna told Elsa the next morning when her nurse came to dress her and do her hair. "Seriously, Elsa. I could listen to you sing for hours."

"Thank you, Anna," Elsa said. "I had forgotten how much I enjoy singing. Perhaps I should do more of it."

Elsa looked pale and tired this morning. She hadn't been able to eat much yesterday, with the bouts of vomiting. Even Anna was feeling ill; the pain in her body was growing steadily worse, and she was very glad that they would be arriving in London in the next two hours. Anna tried to steel herself for the difficult day ahead; the transfer from the harbour to the train station, and the long train ride north to Scarborough… they wouldn't arrive to the resort until quite late this evening.

Elsa and Marta were kept busy that morning packing everything back up again. Anna stayed at the railing, watching the city come into view. She had so many memories of this city; this is where she had gone to boarding school, and, after marrying Hans, they had come quite often to London, to visit family and see performances and do shopping. It had become Hans' favourite city, but not so her own.

He had come here with some of the other nobles from Oslo, in trips without Anna. Now she wondered, just whom had he slept with, those occasions he had been away?

The transfer from boat to taxi to train was nearly as bad as Anna had feared. There was such commotion on the docks. Elsa somehow managed to stay calm and fiercely competent as she found a large enough cab for them and their things. She gently tucked Anna into the back seat of the car before overseeing the stowage of their luggage. She sat next to Anna as the cab took them from the docks to the train station.

Anna looked out the window to see familiar streets and neighbourhoods. They had come here nearly exactly a year ago, to do Christmas shopping for the family. Hans had held her hand, and asked her opinion on everything, and had been attentive and engaging. So warm was he that she felt it her duty to sleep with him that night, and allow him to make love to her in their hotel room.

The Anna of a year ago had no idea of this particular Anna, bearing a dead man's wedding ring, confined to a wheelchair, and seated next to the warmest, most caring individual she had ever yet encountered.

A thought passed through her; what would the Anna of a year from now think? Would the future Anna stand once again on her own two feet? The wheelchair discarded?

And a gaping hole in her life where Elsa Wolff had been?

It was a sobering thought, and one Anna would have time and again.

…

By the time they arrived at that great, confusing, cavernous station in London, Anna was absolutely wretched with pain and nervousness. She hadn't taken a train since the day of the accident itself.

The train that would take them to Scarborough pulled in, chugging and fuming. Anna closed her eyes, but then opened them again, for all she could see in the darkness behind her eyelids was the accident itself. A great weight of grief filled her abdomen; her breath became short. She shifted in her wheelchair, trying, in vain, to get comfortable.

The hiss of the engine, the steady chug as another train departed; the sounds cracked open her memories and made them rush forth. Even with her eyes wide open, Anna began to relive it all; she was as powerless to stop this outrush of memory as she had been powerless to stop the accident itself!

Anna had been seated next to Hans. They weren't speaking much, having argued just after leaving Ingrid's family in Oslo. The train had gained quite a lot of speed as they left Oslo behind. Snow had fallen that January morning under a glowering sky; her entire world felt grey. They began to pass by pastures of cows; huge beasts shaggy in their winter coats.

After that, it all happened fast. They both felt an incredible thud, and the awful strident screech of brakes. People began to scream.

How were her legs broken? She didn't know. Somehow they were trapped under the seats of the train car. She only knew they both snapped, and then there was agony.

The window glass exploded as the train car fell to its side; her body went flying through that open space and into the snow. Something heavy landed on her back, and then all pain in her legs was suddenly gone.

And her husband was also there, in the snow. Blood gushed from the blade of glass in his throat. His arm was stretched out to hers. Anna saw his eyes go glassy. Anna watched him die.

And, as she watched the life bleed away from her husband, Anna momentarily wished that she could die as well. For as she lay in the snow with the wreckage on her back, she had a premonition of the further agony to await her, she had guessed at the darkness to consume her, she had an inkling of the struggles of the months ahead.

But she hadn't seen Elsa. Not that day. She hadn't known of this woman, of the beauty and courage Elsa would share. Anna hadn't known about the truth she would discover under the depths of her pain.

She had never spoken of that terrible day with Elsa. Perhaps today she would; she could no longer bear these burdens alone. The passage of time had not lessened her affliction; no, it grew even heavier under the sediment of weeks and months.

"My lady?" she heard Elsa ask.

Anna didn't care that they were surrounded by strangers. She put out her gloved hand, and Elsa took it, and held it with her own.

…

Train attendants came to put their bags in the luggage car. These two strong young men then came back, one to lift Anna from her wheelchair and into their private compartment of the train car, the other to carry the wheelchair itself. Elsa tipped them well, closed the door of their private compartment, and then sat down next to Anna.

When Anna looked at Elsa again, she could feel her eyes stinging with unshed tears. Pain rampaged throughout her body; pain so great she could barely keep from crying out. "I don't think I can do this, Elsa," she whispered. "My poor body. My memories."

"Look at me, please," Elsa said quietly as she took Anna's gloved hands.

Anna looked at her, into the caring face that had come to mean the world to her. "You are not alone. We will pass through this together. Let me take up part of this burden."

Her throat filled with tears, Anna simply nodded.

"I have a plan. Distraction. Meditation. Sleep. Conversation. We'll get through this together. Trust me."

"Okay." Anna's voice was small.

"Step one. Food. I can hear your stomach growling, Baroness."

Anna weakly chuckled. "Can you eat, Elsa? You've barely had anything for the last two days."

"I could eat an elephant, I think," Elsa joked. But then she allowed all levity to fade from her face as she continued to hold Anna's hands and look in her eyes. "Anna Arendelle, thank you for all the love and concern you have shown me throughout the sea voyage. You can't imagine how much easier it was to pass over the ocean with you by my side. It was not an easy journey for me, and I think you knew it. You played your own part in distracting me, caring for me, spending time with me. It did not go unnoticed, honey. Thank you."

Anna let go of one of Elsa's hands, so she could hold Elsa's cheek. Even as pain continued to throb and gnaw and burn inside her, she held Elsa's face and replied, "You are most welcome."

Elsa smiled at her, squeezed her hand, and then rose to tug on the bell. A few moments later, the door to their cabin opened, and a young man in a suit and tie bowed to them. "My name is Mr. Barrow, and I am at your service."

"This is the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss of Norway," Elsa said, waving her hand at her lady. "And I am her attendant, Miss Wolff." She waited while the young man inclined his head again, this time only at her lady. Anna nodded in turn.

"When will the train depart?" Elsa asked.

"In but five minutes, madam."

"Excellent. And we should reach Scarborough in…?"

"Roughly six hours."

"Fine. We require refreshment at your earliest leisure, Mr. Barrow. What can you offer?" Elsa listened while Mr. Barrow gave her a very short list of both hot and cold items. "My lady?" she asked, turning to Anna for confirmation.

"We'll have the stew and bread and then strawberry custard for dessert, Mr. Barrow, unless there is anything else you would like, Miss Wolff?"

"No, that will all be fine." Mr. Barrow turned to leave, but Elsa stopped him. "Please include a pint of beer as well, Mr. Barrow."

He blinked at her. Elsa heard Anna take a surprised breath.

But the young man was professional enough not to question the request. "Would that be two beers, or just one?"

"Two, please. Thank you."

The door closed behind him, and Elsa resumed her place at Anna's side. "Beer?" Anna asked, even as she winced yet again and rubbed her back.

Elsa smiled at her. "Trust me, my lady." She rummaged in her kit for a flask of water, some headache powder, and the ointment of eucalyptus and mint. Elsa prepared the medicine, Anna took it, and then faced Elsa.

The train whistled, high and joyous, and then one lurch was followed by several. Elsa could feel Anna's body go rigid, and saw her face whiten. "Look at me," Elsa whispered again.

Anna looked at her.

"Focus all your attention on me," Elsa said quietly, rhythmically. "The world will pass away. I am all that exists, there is nothing else. You, and me, and this moment. Breathe for me, dearest. This moment will pass, and so will the next."

Elsa put some ointment on the tip of her finger and lifted it to her lady's temple. "Keep breathing, honey," she said, as she gently, carefully rubbed the ointment in.

Anna put her gloved hand on Elsa's knee, to hold while Elsa worked. When the ointment had been applied, Anna turned to her side so Elsa could briefly rub her back. Elsa had her ears tuned for the sound of Mr. Barrow approaching; she would not want him to see her lady in a position of vulnerability. As Anna bent over and Elsa rubbed her back, she glanced out the window. Elsa saw the city of London eventually pass away, transformed into pastures and hedgerows and tiny villages, all faintly illuminated by an overcast sky. The steady thrum of the tracks on the rails was soothing to her, though, she knew, not to her lady.

Anna did not look out the window, and she kept her hand on Elsa's knee.

And Elsa realized that this one journey to Scarborough had forced them both to confront the demons of the past.

On a deeper level, Elsa also knew why. It was always necessary to cleanse the past, to let it die and be cleared away, before new life could sprout and grow. A new life they would have, together in Scarborough. Just what kind of life remained to be seen; it was enough, for now, to be here with her lady, to support her on her journey.

Just as she had been taught, and just as she had practiced for many years, Elsa fully embraced the present moment, and gave all her attention to how she rubbed Anna's back. She listened to Anna breathe, she felt the sweet pressure of Anna's hand on her knee.

A little while later, Elsa heard Mr. Barrow returning, so she gave Anna's shoulders a last squeeze. "Any better?" she asked as Anna turned to face her.

Anna had some more colour in her cheeks. "A little," Anna admitted.

Mr. Barrow knocked and entered their compartment. The bowls of stew were steaming, the bread thick and dark and hearty, with a large crock of butter to go with it. The two pints of beer still had traces of a foamy head on them. Mr. Barrow also provided cutlery and napkins, then bowed and left them to their meal.

Elsa immediately picked up the nearest pint of beer. She inhaled deeply before taking a generous swallow, then two more. Her mouth and tongue seemed to rejoice in the taste of the malt and the hops; she was instantly tossed back in memory, of being twenty four years old and raising a glass with her Czech girlfriend in Prague, who taught her the importance of the first 'Czech sip'; two or three substantial swallows that would get to the beer beneath the generous foam. Elsa closed her eyes and sighed. The best beer she had ever had in her life came from the newly democratic Czech Republic.

"You look like you enjoyed that," she heard Anna say.

Half-mired in memory, Elsa opened her eyes and replied before she thought about what she was saying. "It's not Czech, but it'll do." Then, realizing her blunder, she continued, "I haven't had a beer in about three years. It wasn't exactly on tap at the monastery."

Anna had lifted her eyebrow in curiosity at what Elsa had said. Elsa ignored it, sliding the other pint over to Anna. Anna began to grin. "I was never allowed to drink beer, not in front of Hans," she said as she raised the glass. "It wasn't lady-like enough. I can't remember the last one I had. Four years ago? My god, I think my last beer was with Johan, as a secret toast to his newborn son and heir."

Elsa lifted her glass again. "Pardon my manners. It was pretty rude of me to drink without 'cheersing'." She clicked the edge of her glass against Anna's. "Cheers, Anna."

"First you say Czech and now you say cheers? Okay. Cheers. Whatever that's supposed to mean."

Elsa frantically searched her pitiful brain for any shred of historical fact that could salvage this conversation. In a moment, she said, "Um, it's just like a toast. To your health."

Anna stared at her in slight exasperation. "Nice try, Elsa. I'd rather make up my own definition. Because you getting me to drink beer, at lunchtime, no less, is a way of 'cheering' me up. Isn't it?" Anna took a sip, grimaced, and then took another, deeper sip.

"Well?" Elsa asked a moment later.

"Well what? It's beer. Though I must admit it's rather tasty on the third or fourth swallow. Perhaps your treatment strategy includes you getting me drunk. I applaud your choice; I haven't been drunk in a very long time. Alcohol always makes me rather chatty. And it certainly works as a painkiller, doesn't it? How strong is this stuff?"

Elsa took another generous sip and felt the vibration of alcohol start to form in her mouth and along her throat. She had only meant to order one, just for Anna, but her tastebuds apparently had a different idea. Elsa hoped her kidney wouldn't regret it later. "Strong enough," she said, quelling the desire to see Anna drunk.

 _If she's adorable when sober, what would she be like when tipsy?_

"Let's eat," Elsa said, wrenching her mind back to the moment.

The stew wasn't particularly tasty, but it was hot and thick. Elsa enjoyed putting a thick layer of butter on her bread and eating it with the stew. She chased down the bite of stew with a long swig of beer.

At one point, halfway through their meal, after Elsa had taken another sip of beer only to sigh in vast contentment, Anna looked at her. There were sparkles of merriment in her teal blue eyes, though Elsa could still see the ghosts of her pain in her features. "I'm about to see a whole new side of you, aren't I?" Anna said quietly.

"Yes, you are," Elsa replied. "I only hope I won't disappoint you."

There was a moment of silence as Anna looked back at her. Then Anna said, "Your being real and authentic with me could never be disappointing. It could only be delightful."

There was enough utter seriousness in her words and her tone to cause Elsa's stomach to flutter. She felt clumsy and awkward as she finished what she could eat of her meal, especially as the train came to a stop at another town, to disgorge and then take on new passengers.

The portions were hearty; Elsa was unable to finish hers, though Anna wiped her own bowl clean with her bread and butter. Elsa managed to pack away half her dessert, though, thinking of how indulgent her mom used to be, in letting her save room for dessert even though she hadn't finished the main meal.

Anna glanced over at her. "You're not going to finish your beer?"

"It's been so long, it's hitting me rather hard." That was an easier statement than the actual truth.

"Um…"

"But please, if you'd like, why don't you finish it?"

"You don't think me greedy?"

"No. Waste not, want not, my mom always said."

"A wise woman, your mom. My mom, well, she was an alcoholic, really, though she tried to keep it secret. I've always been rather careful, because of her." Anna took Elsa's pint and took a long sip. "Though it might be all right today, because beer makes me sleepy. I could use a nap, I think."

"I would be honoured to hear more of your upbringing, Anna, should you ever wish to tell me these things," Elsa said, hoping she wasn't totally going over her bounds.

Anna paused, and then leaned back in her seat. She had a strange looseness; as if she were a marionette, made of wooden blocks and connected by strings; her pain was making her rigid, the beer making her loose. Elsa began to worry even more for her. There were high points of colour on her cheeks, but the rest of her was so haunted, so pale.

"I was thinking likewise not so long ago, Elsa," Anna said. "If I'm going to see a new side of you, I think I would like to show you a new side of me."

"I've already been privy to some of it, my lady," Elsa replied. "I greatly enjoyed hearing you laugh as I threatened to 'tan the hide' of the help, and it was wonderful to watch you throw crumbs to the seagulls. You… you are enchanting."

A rich rosy blush entered Anna's cheeks, and she took another sip of beer rather hastily, as if flustered.

Then she finished the last of the beer, set down the pint, and then burped. Her eyes widened as she tried to cover her mouth, but then Elsa had to stifle her own laughter. "Your secret is safe with me, my lady," Elsa said, leaning forward. "Turns out you are human after all."

"This human is suddenly exhausted, Elsa."

"Good, my dear. Let me call for Mr. Barrow and then you can nap."

Elsa rang the bell for Mr. Barrow. He took away their tray and, at Elsa's request, brought them blankets and pillows. As he left, Elsa told him that they did not require anything else, and should not be disturbed unless they called for him.

With the door closed once more, Elsa turned to Anna. "Can you sleep, my dear? Why don't you sleep some of these hours away. I can make up the bench over there for you." There was a strangle clacking as the train whooshed over a bridge.

There was a complex mixture of emotions that crossed Anna's face as she looked at the bench opposite and then back at Elsa. "What is it?" Elsa asked, momentarily confused.

"It doesn't look so comfortable," Anna said slowly. "But I so desperately want to sleep." There was an entreaty on her face, and a hint of fear as well.

Elsa thought she recognized it, for she had come to understand that Anna Arendelle was completely starved for human contact, and craved it more than she craved food, or sunshine, or throwing crumbs to gulls. Elsa squashed yet another stab of hatred for Anna's deceased husband and how he must have treated her, even as she said, so softly, so sweetly, "Then let me be your cushion, my lady. Once I am comfortable, you can lean against me for several hours, if you wish."

"Only if you don't mind," Anna said in a rush.

"I wouldn't have offered if I minded."

So it happened that Elsa put both pillows behind her own back, reclining against the bench, making her own body as long and limber as possible.

A moment later she pulled Anna nearly on top of her. Her lady rested her head upon Elsa's heart. Elsa fluffed a blanket out over Anna's body, and then put her arm over Anna's waist, to keep her from falling to the side. She could no longer see Anna's face, but hoped that her eyes were already leaden, and closed. "Sleep, dearest," Elsa whispered.

Anna had her hand on Elsa's dress-clad leg. She squeezed it once, and fell asleep.

Sleep did not come to Elsa Wolff, so enraptured was she by the sensation of holding this woman in her arms. She had experienced it only twice before, in moments doomed to brevity. This feeling was so luxurious that Elsa bathed in it; she watched as her own breath caused Anna's body to slightly rise and fall, she watched as Anna's body fell into deep and restful sleep, and she felt pain in her own lower back start to swell and grow.

Elsa Wolff had withstood pain far greater than this, so she smiled through it, and breathed through it, and watched as the English countryside slipped by under the watchful care of inconstant clouds.

…

They had gone through several more towns, even stopping once, and yet Anna slept on. Elsa was glad of it, though she could sense that she would have to wake Anna soon. Her own discomfort was becoming hard to bear.

Perhaps nearly two hours after Anna had fallen into a deep sleep, Elsa could see Anna start to twitch. Her eyelids moved rapidly, and she opened her mouth to breathe. "No," Anna whispered, still deeply asleep.

Or had the word been 'snow'?

"Ssh," Elsa murmured, stroking Anna's hair.

She could not help herself. After stroking Anna's hair, Elsa stroked Anna's arm, down to her wrist, and then she cupped Anna's hand that lay there, above the blanket. A feeling of protectiveness, stark and fierce, plunged through her; so strongly she nearly reeled because of it.

Several moments passed. Just when Elsa thought the dream was over, Anna suddenly launched out of Elsa's embrace, her arms flailing, her breath heaving, a shriek caught, at the last moment, between her teeth.

Elsa sat up with her, her limbs pricking with the flow of fresh blood. "Anna," she called, her heart thrumming with sympathy and memory. She had witnessed other nightmares before.

Anna turned to her, her eyes wild and frightened.

Then she wrapped her arms around Elsa's body and burrowed into her chest as she started to weep. Elsa rubbed Anna's back in long, slow swoops. "Oh, honey, was it a dream? It was only a dream, it's over now, you're here, you're with me."

Anna gulped. Anna sighed.

Anna spoke.

"I never told you, I never told anyone. Not even Johan or Lily. I watched him die, Elsa. The glass was in his throat, and his blood soaked the snow, and I saw him die. Right in front of me. I was powerless to stop it. I watched as my own husband died."

Horror sliced through Elsa like a heavy sickle. A fresh stab of anger came to her, this time directed at fate or destiny or the universe itself; whatever would cause such a terrible thing to happen to this woman.

"If this memory pains you too greatly, and the burden is too much to bear, give me a portion, my lady, or give me all. Let me carry it with you."

A wretched breath, and a pause.

And then.

Between sobs, Anna did.

She gave Elsa it all.

And this steadfast therapist ingested all of Anna Arendelle's memories, with their razor-sharp barbs, with their malicious colour, with all their power to erase a future more than thirty years in the making and replace it with a single empty white canvas. Pain would be drawn upon that canvas, along with the stark outline of a wheelchair.

And when the words slowed, and Anna's breathing regained its former rhythm and beauty, Elsa felt those memories settle forever in empty shelves in her mind, there to remain until the end of her days.

They were indeed a very great burden. Elsa had only seen pictures of the Baron Skaldenfoss, yet she herself could perceive the redness of his blood on January snow; she could see the life fading from his eyes. Had he once painted a picture of his future? Would those colours be similarly cast upon the snow, there with his dying breath?

For the finality of his death was to be cast upon the snow, and taken up by his most faithful wife. Only to be passed on, like any old bill or coin.

Would he welcome this nobody, this stranger, this therapist, to be a similar witness of his sudden demise?

After what she had heard of the man, Elsa thought not.

But he was dead now, and the dead tell no tales.

…

Two hours yet to Scarborough.

Anna has washed her face, and Elsa has combed and rebraided her hair into two braids that hang by her face, as if she were a child again, though few children would have those gray strands of hair, or that stark white streak that was so becoming.

At Elsa's behest, Anna closes her eyes and conducts a meditation practice. With each long, slow, deep exhale, Anna thinks of her skin. She visualizes her very skin sighing in satisfaction and peace upon the outbreath.

And then she imagines her muscles also sighing likewise, every exhale a satisfaction, a contentment, a delight. Such long, slow breaths, for they have all the time in the world, for surely there was time for all good things.

Anna has other, passing thoughts about good things, as she remembers how it felt to be cradled so gently in Elsa's arms. But to meditate is to focus on the breath, so she does so, because Elsa wills it. At this point, Anna would do anything Elsa said, their roles to be reversed, for Elsa was more than a mere Baroness, Elsa was a Queen!

On to her bones, her very once-broken bones also taking the breath, to exhale, to sigh. To vibrate in oneness and communion with the universe who, indeed, has not forsaken her.

Oh no. The white canvas of her life would yet unfurl with beauty, and with joy, made all the dearer by heartache.

For her heart is also the subject of this meditation. It has been once-broken, when she beheld her husband being unfaithful to her. Twice-broken, in fact, if she allows herself to think of being seventeen again, and standing upon the shore of the Aegean Sea. (Time does not fade those particular memories, for some memories cannot pale.) As she visualizes her heart sighing with each exhale, Anna has a premonition that her heart would be broken at least once more.

And this woman, whose low and beloved voice guides her through the meditation, would be the one to break it.

Break it wide open.

And let the endless sea rush in.

…

Dusk. It shattered upon the train station at Scarborough, creating shadows that fractured and injured the light. A car from the resort waited at the station for the train to come in. Compensation had been promised for their strict attention to this matter of retrieving the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss and taking her to her lodgings at the resort located on the edge of the city. Their apartment was ready, a strange table built in the last two days and installed in the bathroom.

The train, although six hours into its journey, still chugged and fumed with much consternation and fury. Smoke billowed from its chimney; it vomited forth its passengers.

One of them was the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss, and her attendant, Miss Elsa Wolff.

Miss Wolff was competent and terse as she directed the driver to help with the luggage. Lady Skaldenfoss sat, slumping slightly, in her wheelchair. When the driver went to lift the lady into the car, Miss Wolff stopped him, taking the lady in her own arms and placing her into the back seat of the automobile.

So the driver did not see how the therapist briefly held the lady's hands, and he did not hear her whisper, "Stay with me, honey, we're almost there."

Anna felt it. Anna heard it. Anna needed all of it.

For Anna could barely withstand this final part of her horrific journey. She miserably thought to herself that this whole ordeal wouldn't have been possible even two weeks ago. Elsa had done so much for her, in such a short time. But here, and now, all of Elsa's work was barely enough.

Elsa sat next to her and the car moved away from the train station. Anna sat rigidly, trying to stay in marginal control of the pain that throbbed and burned throughout her entire body. With the driver able to see them both in his rear-view mirror, Anna dared not take Elsa's hand as she so dearly wanted.

But she did take Elsa's pinkie finger with her own pinkie, even as she stared out the window to a city she had never seen before.

The city seemed alien, unreal. The night was so fierce, giving this town a sinister aura. Dusk had fallen, swift and hard, like hammers on glass. Anna was so brittle she felt she could cut herself on these edges of night.

The driver finally pulled up to the resort on the outskirts of the town. He unshipped the wheelchair and placed it next to the car. Elsa again took Anna in her arms, lifting her from the car into her waiting wheelchair; her movements firm but so very gentle. As she bent to take Anna, she whispered, "I know you're in pain, sweetie. Just hold on a little longer, hold on, dearest."

Oh, yes, Anna held on. She held on to Elsa's words, she held on to Elsa's affection, just as she held on to the armrests of her wheelchair. They were the only constants in her world; a world distilled to laughing dark symphonies of blackness and pain.

The Director of the resort was there to greet them. Anna delved deep into her training, and returned his greeting with a prescribed sentence or two. Elsa was somewhat curt with him, and soon asked that they be escorted immediately to their lodging. Surely he had only to take a single look at the lady in the wheelchair to know why they were being so blunt.

So it was that Anna's first view of her pretty little apartment in the resort of Scarborough was through eyes tightened with discomfort, muscles vibrating in exhaustion, and a headache that sent seismic waves of pain over her whole body. She scarcely noticed the little sitting room, with the sculpted fireplace and tastefully chosen artwork on the walls; clearly designed for nobility. Elsa wheeled her right into her private bedchamber, which was connected to the living space, and also had a door to a bathing chamber.

When Elsa picked her up to transfer her to her new bed, Anna couldn't help but utter a soft and piteous cry. "Oh my dearest," Elsa whispered as she took off  
Anna's hat and placed her on her side. She straightened Anna's body and then fluffed a spare blanket over her. "Keep your eyes shut, my lady, and breathe as I have taught you. I must see to a few things, but I will be back in five minutes. Be strong, heart. Wait for me."

Elsa touched Anna's neck before she left; a casual gesture, perhaps, but Anna grasped on to the memory of it and held on tight. She was in such incredible pain; Anna opened up a myriad of doors in her mind, hoping the images and memories would distract her and help her cope with the agony in her back and in her skull.

The first memories were all about Elsa. About sleeping on top of her this very afternoon, and playing cards with her aboard the ship, and holding Elsa's hand as Elsa wept. She remembered how Elsa once sat behind her, her arms atop Anna's chest, Anna's palms open in deep faith and trust. She remembered waking to see Elsa standing at the window, one hand rubbing her back, the other palm pressed against the glass as rain struck the pane. Anna thought of kittens, and grandchildren, and having Elsa witness it all.

From there Anna's mind sped to her daughters-in-law, and her son. How carefully they had treated her after the accident, how frightened and confused they all were at her altered circumstances.

And this time, when she thought of her husband, she did not see the man who died before her very eyes, nor the man who had cheated on her.

No, somehow Anna's mind migrated back to her wedding day. For there Hans stood, dressed in his most formal clothes, declaring his rank and station as Baron, as he waited at the end of the church aisle. Anna approached him in her wedding dress, her face covered by a veil, her train rippling back behind her. She had believed herself happy that day, for her real life was beginning, she was leaving the mistakes of her past behind her, she was fulfilling the future her family so desperately required of her.

She had been just twenty-one years old.

Her father had been in a wheelchair, and unable to give her away. Half his body was blurred and frozen in the stroke that left him an invalid, the stroke that had sparked their family's most desperate search for a nobleman for Anna to marry. As the eldest of two daughters, it was her duty to marry, and, for the sake of the estate, she had to marry well.

But Anna shied away from those memories, of how soon after her marriage her father had passed away, and thought next of her early years as Hans' bride. For those had been good years, at first. Anna had even believed that she had fallen in love with her husband; what a blessing for an arranged marriage such as hers.

But that love she thought she felt paled already in comparison for what she was but beginning to feel for Elsa Wolff.

Of course her thoughts returned to Elsa. They always did.

But did Elsa actually love her as a person, or only as she must love and serve each of her patients?

Cast such in her memories, Anna barely heard Elsa giving orders to the footmen who were bringing in their luggage. They had a maid assigned to them; Kate was sent for a hot water bladder first, and then to provide tea with soup and sandwiches. Elsa's voice was strict as she warned the girl to be quiet as a mouse when she returned to lay out the tea.

Anna only knew Elsa had returned when she felt Elsa's hand on her back. Then Elsa's beloved voice was in her ear. "Tell me, dear heart, you know your body best. What do you need?"

Anna wet her lips and whispered, "A cool towel on my neck, the bladder on the small of my back. And most of all your hands, Elsa, but please be so very careful and so very gentle…"

Then Elsa's hands were on her, helping her out of her pretty travelling outfit. Anna was barely able to help, yet soon the dress and the corset were off, revealing her adapted shift.

Elsa then lifted her, and carried her into the bathing chamber, where a very familiar table awaited them. Anna looked at it in some surprise; she had no idea Elsa had ordered it. "Thank god," she breathed, just as Elsa lifted her upon the table. The padding was slightly different from the table back in Iskall Slott, but otherwise everything else was the same, even to the headrest with the hole in the middle.

The room was completely dark and shuttered; the only light came from the lamp that burned in Anna's chamber. It was light enough, and Anna wished no more. Elsa soon stripped Anna down to her drawers, leaving her entire upper body bare, before draping her along the length of the table. A cool towel was placed on her neck, and the bladder on her back. A blanket covered the rest of her.

Anna winced as Elsa began to softly knead the muscles of her buttocks and pelvis over the blanket, trying to loosen hips that had been confined for days on the ship on the train. Even without Elsa's behest, Anna started to regulate her breathing, to make each inhale and exhale long and slow, thinking of the sighs of her beleaguered body.

Finally she could hear the smack of oil on Elsa's hands, which then touched Anna's naked skin with some caution and almost reverence. "Hush now, my dear one, my darling," Elsa murmured as she rubbed. Anna wished there was some way she could touch Elsa in turn, but it was impossible. She had to content herself with Elsa's hands, with Elsa's voice. "I'm here, honey," Elsa continued, "we'll greet this pain together, yes we will. Just listen to the sound of my voice and think of the tulips, the tulips you love so very much. Think of little bulbs hibernating in frozen soil, so rich and brown, so hidden are they, but what beauty and potential vibrates inside them! They merely wait for the coming of spring, the coming of the sun.

"And the sun is here, it is in you, as it is in me, and it bathes this frozen ground with warmth and generosity. Watch these bulbs break open, watch them sprout forth, watch as these brave shoots uncurl from the soil, see them rise only to burst in petals of red and yellow and pink. Be the tulip, Anna, your time is coming, the sun is here, believe me, my dear. Though it may be winter all around you, you hold an invincible summer within you. Hope floats forever on the skin of the endless sea."

The river of Elsa's voice was warm as melted chocolate and just as sweet, and Anna bobbed along the current of this river, for there was love there, love to cup her and hold her like the most perfect boat. Love that poured forth, radiating out of Elsa Wolff like the veritable sun she proclaimed to be!

Elsa continued to whisper as she slowly massaged her way up Anna's back and shoulders, releasing knots of tension, before beginning to swoop down again, lower and lower. The pain was receding as Anna's muscles began to give up their rigidity, their positions of power and defence. The pain could not withstand the competence, the affection, the _power_ of Elsa Wolff. As Elsa moved back down along Anna's spine, even her very words dried up in the fire of her devotion, and she began to work in silence.

It was imperceptible at first, but then Anna noticed Elsa using more pressure. And then more pressure. Surprised but still enveloped by trust, Anna relaxed even more completely, giving Elsa complete access to her body.

What happened next, Anna could scarcely comprehend.

Elsa began a sequence of movements Anna had never before encountered. She used firm, deliberate motions at specific points along Anna's back and spine, pressing and twisting, moving down, down to where sensation blurred in her lower back and pelvis. Just there, along the blurry line of her paralysis, Elsa dug in with the heels of her palms and twisted, one very hard and deliberate twist, and both of Anna's legs jerked in response.

Both women were shocked into stillness. Anna opened her eyes, and craned her head so that she could see her nurse. "What just happened?" she asked.

 _My legs moved. My god, my legs_ _moved_ _._

Elsa's face was pale with exertion and worry, her eyes wide with surprise. "I never dared try that before… I never thought to dare… honey, my Master taught me that adjustment, but I haven't used it in years. God, I used it before I even thought to use it, are you all right, dearest, are you all right?"

Anna reached out her hand, to grab a fistful of fabric of Elsa's dress, drawing her closer and bringing Elsa's troubled torrent of words to a halt. "Elsa, breathe. It's okay. I'm okay." Then Anna's face creased into a smile. "My legs moved. Elsa, my legs moved."

Elsa blew out the breath she had been holding. A small smile finally reappeared on her face. Anna released her hold on Elsa's dress. Elsa put her hands again on Anna's back, and resumed a slow and gentle rubbing. Anna recognized this particular sequence. Elsa was cooling her down.

"Yes, yes, they moved. My lady, how are you now?"

In the shock of actually feeling her legs move, Anna had forgotten all about her pain. When she tuned into her body, she found that the majority of it had again dissipated in Elsa's patient work, save for the familiar low grinding headache. "I feel much better," she replied as she continued to lie on this new massage table, appreciating the sensation of Elsa's oiled hands as they moved like silk and gloss over her back. "But could you…?" and Anna paused.

"The answer will be yes."

A simple statement, but it flooded Anna with warmth. With Hans the answer had often been no. This woman was a living, breathing bastion of yes, for yes was an open door, yes was possibility and promise, and yes was both risk and reward.

"Could you rub my neck and shoulders for a little longer? Please?"

"Of course."

Elsa's hands slid up to Anna's neck and shoulders and then she began to rub the cords of her neck and the long bones of her shoulder blades. Anna closed her eyes yet again and sank into the immense pleasure of the massage. She remembered that jerk of her legs, and wondered how Elsa had known what to do; her competent and uncanny hands had once against deliberately provoked a bodily response.

It was comforting to have Elsa working so close to her. Yet she could sense weariness in Elsa's movements; exhaustion coated her therapist, and provided extra gravity to her work. So, as soon as she could persuade herself that she felt better, Anna sighed and said, "All right, Elsa. That's so much better. Thank you."

Elsa held her neck for a moment longer in her constant hands, and then removed the now-tepid water bladder and nearly dry towel.

As Elsa picked her up, Anna could sense her therapists' frailty even more. Anxiety coloured her heart as Elsa carried her back into her new bedchamber. Elsa hadn't eaten much in two days; where did her reserves of strength and energy come from?

Anna remembered nursing her own babies, holding them to her own breast, against the wishes of her husband and her ridiculous doctor; they had advised her to give the nursing to the nurses. But Anna had held her dear babies to her own breast, and gave them her own milk, her own sustenance and her own breath, and felt the exhaustion that only new mothers could feel.

It was the same type of exhaustion that now tainted her dear one, her Elsa. Anna could sense her weakness in how carefully she placed Anna upon her bed. When Elsa pulled her shift back upon her, Anna could feel the slowness of Elsa's movements. The dress came next; and gravity was apparent in how clumsy Elsa was in doing the laces of her dress, in fastening the buttons.

Finally Anna sat upon her bed, fully clothed once more, refreshed and alert. She sat, and finally noticed how large her bed was, how her room had a fireplace, and a generous wardrobe, and a small sitting table with a mirror and a chair. It was unlike her room in Iskall Slott, but so much like her room of her childhood, there in her mother's estate!

There was evidence of recent carpentry; the door that led to the sitting room and to the bathroom had no sills. She would be able to wheel her chair from one room to another without interference. Elsa must have ordered that as well; this woman was more than competent; she was extremely thoughtful as well.

Elsa sat with a whoosh of breath upon the chair that was near Anna's bedside. "And now, my lady?" she asked. "How do you feel?"

All her earlier pain had dissipated. Anna felt excitement, and joy, and yearning for this new adventure. She was no longer in Norway. She was in England, she was with Elsa, she was embarking upon a journey whose end could only be completeness, could only be delight!

She sensed this completeness and delight, just as she had sensed the darkness as she watched her husband perish before her eyes. It was as if the universe was expanding her sight, making it possible to see things that could not truly be seen.

And as she looked at Elsa Wolff, Anna saw something more.

There was darkness inside her companion. There were secrets. There was something that weighted her down, that nibbled upon her and stole her essence.

Only truth could free her. But did Elsa know this?

"I feel so much better now, Elsa, thank you," Anna said, even as she continued to perceive Elsa in this strange way, this omniscient light.

"Well enough to eat, I hope," Elsa said, her voice regaining some of her perkiness. "It's been many hours since our stew and beer at lunchtime, Baroness. There should be tea, and soup and sandwiches in the sitting room. Though if the tea is cold, I'll have Kate refresh the pot so it's good and warm. I know how much the English prize their tea." She looked at Anna and then continued, her voice warmly chiding, "And don't you make that face at me, Lady Skaldenfoss. You must eat something. If you have no appetite for sandwiches, you'll have soup. If not soup, then bread or oatmeal and fruit. I don't care what you eat, as long as you eat something."

Anna laughed at the vehemence in Elsa's voice. "What if I want roast duckling with orange sauce, and brandied plums?" she asked, the levity in her voice intoxicating, her memory still refreshing how her legs had jerked against the table. Her nerves commanding, and her legs refreshingly obedient.

And Elsa laughed aloud, her voice ringing clear as a bell in this chamber. It transformed her wan face into a vision of youth and loveliness. "Bless your heart, you minx, but there's no way that even I could conjure up roast duck with orange sauce and brandied plums."

"I don't believe anyone has ever called me minx before."

"Nevertheless, I do not beg your pardon. I think you deserved that one."

Anna laughed again. It felt so natural, so wonderful, to laugh. "Fine, you win. Let's eat tea and sandwiches."

Elsa placed her in her wheelchair and took her out into the sitting room. Anna looked around her in appraisal; the space was small, but well laid out. A comfortable couch and chair were arrayed near the fireplace. A writing desk was by the window. Small tables bore lamps that burned with electric light. There was even a small dining area, where a covered tray awaited them.

Elsa put a little more wood on the fire, and then joined Anna at the table. The tea was actually still hot; perhaps Kate had refreshed it just as Elsa was completing Anna's massage. They began to eat; Anna was voracious, and had to tell herself to eat slowly and carefully. Elsa ate likewise.

They spoke of the journey, of this apartment, and of the quick telegram that Kate could send home, telling the family of their safe arrival in Scarborough. Finally they spoke of that one jerk of Anna's legs.

"What was that you tried?" Anna asked. "How did you know to use it?"

Elsa sat back in her chair to sip her tea. Her cheeks were prettily coloured, though her entire aspect whispered of bone-deep exhaustion. "This entire journey has brought India to my mind. Passing through London again, and remembering the demise of my Master, caused even more memories to resurface. My Master chided me, Anna, when I was in London, saying that I hoarded my stories and experiences too closely. That you, above all, deserved to hear them."

Anna straightened slightly in her chair, and then took another sip of tea, now somewhat tepid.

Elsa's gaze was soft with tiredness, yet she continued to look right at Anna. "With your permission, my lady, Anna, I would like to make this a safe place for both of us. A bubble, if you will. We spoke earlier about seeing new sides of our characters. I would like to show you more, and share my life with you, but it may take me some time to dissolve these old boundaries. However, step by step, I will."

Then Elsa leaned forward, and put her cup of tea back on the table. Her entire aspect was one of utter seriousness. "I once promised to take my inner gloves off for you, my lady." Elsa then pantomimed taking off gloves from hands that were already bare. Anna watched as those invisible gloves were placed on the table.

And then Anna reached out, and took those invisible gloves, to hold so gently, so tenderly in her hands. She stroked them, and held them, and said, "Share what you will, Elsa, and know that I will not betray your trust." Anna finished the important charade by placing the gloves back on the table.

"Then let us sit by the fire, for that couch looks more comfortable than your wheelchair."

Elsa wheeled Anna closer to the couch before lifting her from her chair to put her on the cushion. Anna sighed for the perfect amount of cushioning the couch provided. Elsa dimmed some lamps, refreshed their cups of tea, and then sat down on the other side of the couch. She fluffed a blanket over their legs.

"Are you comfortable, my lady?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish a story? I have one I can tell."

"Also yes. I would love to hear a story."

Elsa sipped her tea and then said, "You asked how I knew to use that special adjustment? It is because I experienced it firsthand, my lady. I was in India when I brushed up against the invisible world for the second time. Where I very nearly crossed the endless sea, as you so eloquently put it."

Anna's heart was already glowing and burning like the fire next to them, so delighted was she to be part of Elsa's confidence, and yet already so empathetic for the type of story she was about to hear. She stayed quiet, still, and attentive, hoping her attention would be a gift of strength and acceptance for this younger woman.

"It happened fifteen years ago," Elsa quietly said. "I had been in India already for five years, at the monastery in the north, near the mountains. I loved those mountains, and hiked them often. One of my favourite pastimes was heading to a far slope to gather a herb or type of flower that could only be found there; many medicinal plants were still used by the monks.

"We were on one such expedition, myself and five others, four men and one woman. It was early spring, and the best time to gather one particular plant that grew on a farther slope. One man among us was new to the monastery, was not even technically a monk, but he was energetic and young and we believed he would make a valuable addition to our party.

"We made it to the slopes in safety, and gathered what we could of the plant and left the rest, of course, to live on and propagate. It was as we were returning to the monastery that the accident happened."

Anna had forgotten all about her tea. She just sat there, spellbound by Elsa's story. With those words, a terrible premonition entered her; surely that poor man was about to be injured! But what about Elsa?

"We were crossing a chasm lined with boulders. The depth was not terribly great, but still there was a rope bridge that connected each side to make the passage easier. I still don't know why the young man was startled so; a wild yak had wandered out of the brush on the far side. We were both on the rope bridge at the time, and safety ropes connected us to each other.

"For whatever reason, the yak came out of the brush, the young man lost his grip on the rope, and he fell. I couldn't brace myself in time, so I fell with him. Down we went, falling several meters, landing on those boulders below."

Anna gasped. "Oh, my god," she whispered.

Elsa closed her eyes and inclined her head to the fire, as if the memory were still too painful, even after all these years, and needed this tribute of silence and darkness.

Anna gave her this moment of silence, even though she was now desperate to hear the end of the tale.

Finally Elsa opened her eyes again, to look right at Anna. "He struck his head and died," Elsa said. "I landed nearly right on top of him, and that is the only reason I survived, though I was also horrifically injured. I suffered a broken leg, a concussion and lacerated skull, and a compressed spine."

Anna inhaled sharply. She so desperately wanted to ask questions, but neither did she want to stop this sudden and rare outpouring of story. Elsa soon resumed. "We couldn't get back to the safety of the monastery before nightfall. The others of the party, they retrieved us from the chasm. They set my leg and wrapped my skull and carried me on a litter of straight tree limbs. We made camp. They made a large fire and put me next to it. Two men hurried on to the monastery for rescue, and the last two stayed with me. I heard them talking about me. I heard them telling each other that I would not last out the night."

Anna could not tear her eyes away from Elsa. Rapt, she listened, the whole world fallen away.

"I believe I was in a delirium, brought on by pain and shock. But I remember something quite vividly. It must have been near dawn, and the last stars of the sky were shining brilliant against the black. I was in so much pain, once again I was in agony, and I lifted my head to the sky and asked why I was meant to suffer so. I just wanted to help people. I knew I had a generous heart, and a giving nature. I knew I was immensely talented in healing and therapy. So why was I being so sorely tested?

"There was no voice from the sky, no sign in the form of comet or meteor or shooting star. Even those last stars winked out as dawn stirred. But then… then, Anna, a songbird began to sing. And then another. They sang to each other in their high, piping voices, celebrating the coming of another day. And though I have never been a church-going type of person, my dear, though I believe in some higher power but not much else, a memory of my childhood came back to me, and a passage from the Bible that my mother used to read."

Elsa's voice was husky and contemplative as she then said, "It is said that God remarks the fall of each and every sparrow. But the sparrow. Still. Falls."

Anna stared at her.

"No other revelation came to me that night," Elsa said. "Only that the sparrow falls. Does it ever say if the sparrow rises again, and flies in the heavens? I think not. It was enough to know that I fell, and the universe knew it. Perhaps, dearest, it is only enough to fall and not to imagine rising. The fall is enough, I think…"

Elsa paused yet again, her eyes so very far away, mired in the memory of a dead cold night in the mountains of northern India, shivering and despairing.

But then Elsa's eyes became fully _present_ once more, and full of the life and energy that Anna found so appealing. Elsa set down her cup of tea and then leaned forward, so she could take Anna's hand. Anna gratefully held it, and squeezed it, reminding herself that this was all in the past, for Elsa was here, Elsa was now.

"It is hindsight alone that has shown me the wisdom of my fall. I needed to fall, Anna, so that my Master could treat me. It was he who so expertly massaged my back and brought my spine back into alignment. Though I was bound to a wheelchair for months, eight months after my fall in the mountains, I learned to walk again. My legs, gone for so long, were returned to me." Elsa tenderly squeezed Anna's hand. "Fifteen years would pass before I would understand why, Anna. The day I met you, the answer came to me. I fell for you, like it was always meant to be."

Anna's heart quaked and trembled. She looked at Elsa with new eyes; her spirit was about to burst with the implications of Elsa's story.

And she recalled something Elsa had said, in one of Anna's worst moments, the moment she believed that Elsa might leave her to go back to India, taking her Master's ashes with her.

"Yes, you are mine, aren't you?" Anna breathed. "Surely God gave you to me."

Elsa's beloved face was so close to her; the firelight made her seem both warmer and yet somehow more ephemeral. "We were meant to be together, I think. I believe I have finally reached a point in my life where I no longer believe in coincidences. There is another aspect to the invisible world, my dear, an energy that seeks to bring light out of all dark, and beauty from all chaos. You, Anna, you yourself have taught me this."

Anna could scarcely breathe, wouldn't dare to move.

And Elsa allowed her this moment of quiet and intense peace, all the while radiating the fierce kindness that personified her nature.

"Will you tell me more about this experience, and others?" Anna finally dared ask.

Elsa took a deep breath. "Even telling this tale was not easy for me, my lady. Be patient with your servant, and let me dismantle my structures instead of destroying them completely. I know I may appear quite fearless and bold on the outside, but I am only a woman, and a flawed one, at that. For all that being vulnerable and authentic is appealing, I have been hurt deeply by some unintended consequences. Give me time, Anna."

"Time we have, Elsa. Time, and a safe space for perhaps both of us to dismantle away. For tonight, however, know that I am glad for your words, not only for the hope it brings me, that perhaps I might one day walk on my own, but also for the trust you have shown in me. Thank you."

Another sacred pause descended upon them, a beautiful span of time made memorable by companionship and truth-telling. Finally Elsa sighed and looked searchingly at Anna's body. "Anna, honey, would you like a bath? Why don't you have a nice long soak while I unpack our things."

Elsa herself looked completely exhausted, but the thought of a hot bath was too tantalizing to pass up. Anna gratefully accepted. Elsa left to get everything ready. Anna heard the sound of water in the taps. Elsa soon returned, to lift Anna into her wheelchair and take her to the bathing chamber. She helped Anna strip off her clothes, and put her into the tub that was nearly filled with oil and bubbles. "Would you like anything else?" Elsa asked.

"Not now, Elsa," Anna replied. "Just don't do too much. I know that you are exhausted as well. Unpack only what absolutely must be unpacked, and save the rest for tomorrow. Kate will help us. I'm exhausted as well, and won't be awake much longer."

"As you wish," Elsa replied, and bobbed her head before she closed the door behind her, giving Anna some privacy.

After Elsa had exited the room, Anna gratefully sank into the quite large bathtub and rested her head against the rim while she looked around the room. It was nearly as large as her bathing chamber in Iskall Slott, and had a dressing screen in the corner as well as Elsa's massage table. The toilet was in one corner, right next to a sink. Anna soaped up a cloth and began to wash her legs as she thought about Elsa's story.

How was it actually possible that her nurse had also experienced what Anna had gone through? A broken leg, a concussion, a compressed spine… these were so similar to Anna's own injuries. No wonder Elsa's level of compassion and empathy had been so enormously high; she had actually lived through the same sort of hell.

Surely Elsa had been sent to her, and to the others she would serve after Anna was well. It still seemed a terrifying trial to endure, a horrific twist of cruel fate that would demand such pain, and all for a reason that would only be evident many years after, and only with the sharp lens of hindsight.

A new thought pierced Anna's mind. What was the sense of her own injuries, then? She was not a caregiver, not in the same sense as her therapist, but she had her own place in her community, her own role to play in the lives of her family and the estate. What lessons were she even now learning that would be useful in hindsight? Who would she encounter in the far off future, so that one day she might reflect back on this very moment and see the omen within?

Could all that was evil be turned to such good? Could such benefits truly come from the depths of her pain?

Did beauty truly arise from chaos?

Anna hoped she would remember this story the next time that agony threatened to rip her skull apart or tear her flesh from her bones. She hoped she would think of her therapist, how Elsa had had such similar injuries and had learned to walk again. She hoped she could imagine the piping voices of Indian songbirds and know that sometimes the sparrow falls.

And sometimes the sparrow flies again.

...

Author's Note: I want to thank all of you for reading my story. And for those who have left me private messages and reviews, you all have my sincerest thanks. I'm not completely out of my tough times, but it's immensely comforting to read your messages and know that this story has had an impact on you. Thank you for reading and for responding to a stranger on the Internet.

Just wait and see what will unfold in Scarborough...


	14. Chapter 14 - Kindness

**Chapter 14**

 **Kindness**

Anna woke the following day with a sense of hope and excitement; she had not had such strong feelings in a very long time, though she remembered them from ages ago when she had first arrived at Iskall Slott as Hans' bride. Only the thinnest sediment of pain was upon her this morning as she woke. The sense of anticipation was so strong she could feel it surging through her nerves. She gladly meditated for a moment, there in her bed, sending those feelings of hope and excitement down from her torso into her unfeeling legs. She also spent a moment in silent thanksgiving for Elsa's presence in her life; she was still winded from Elsa's story of the night before.

That Elsa had recovered from such dread injuries was a large portion of this hope that now infused the Dowager Baroness, sifting through her muscles and sinews and breathing a new future directly into her legs.

That first day at the resort passed like a whirlwind. In the morning, after a shortened rehabilitation, she and Elsa went on an extended tour of the resort, guided by the Director himself. He showed them the three pools, each with a different size and different temperature. The largest was one of the coolest; it would be where most of their actual rehabilitation would take place. The two others were in dark, cave-like rooms, and were quite hot. These quiet, meditative spaces were designed for relaxation and were separated by sex for privacy.

They were shown the main dining hall, where they could take as many meals as they wished, though they could also request meals in their chambers. It now being luncheon, Anna was invited to sit at table with seven other noblemen and women who were at the resort. It felt strange to watch Elsa go to another part of the dining hall, there to have her own meal with the other nurses and attendants and commonfolk, including some other soldiers from the war. Anna found the conversation to be a bit dry, though she briefly regaled the table with three sentences that somehow condensed the agony of the last ten months into mere slips and sighs of English words.

She would have pondered further those sentences had she not, in turn, listened to the other brief reminiscences of the other residents. Two of the noblemen had injuries at least as horrific as her own, as they were accrued from the late war. No other noblewoman had similar tales; they were at the resort for general relaxation and health. Anna was glad that she had met these two men, who also sat in wheelchairs, who also spoke of paralysis and unending pain. Their hopes were less than hers, for both of their spinal cords had been severed in their accidents, rendering them paralyzed from the waist down for life.

Her spinal cord had only been compressed in the accident, and the prospect of walking again was most definitely in her future. They looked envious, when she spoke of Elsa's words, but even their envy was shielded with reality.

For none of them spoke of the horrors of the mind, nor shared more than the briefest explanation of how they had come by such injuries. For one man, it was enough to hear about a shell, and trenches, and Anna's own imagination provided the rest.

Leif could have been one of these young men, had he survived his own war-time injuries.

After luncheon, Elsa rejoined them, and continued to wheel Anna about as they now entered the grounds. There was a large garden, with a small grassy hillock, and the garden was studded with many smaller flowerbeds and hedges; Anna's experienced eye noted the flowing design of the beds, and appreciated the contrasts of textures and colours, though most of the flowers were now fading with the onset of winter. There were many small paths throughout, easy enough to tread even with her wheelchair, and some small benches and arbours as well, with climbing roses and vines. The beauty of the place was soothing to her, reminding her of her mother's family's estate far to the south.

Anna thought briefly of her mother's death, the funeral that was attended by hundreds of people yet so few of them had actually known the tormented and wonderful woman that her mother had been. She had never remarried after the stroke that had paralyzed and eventually killed her husband, and she had also championed Anna's own rights in going to school and getting a decent education.

Even now, so many years later, Anna missed her mother.

Still, Anna was quite tired and in a lot of pain when the tour was over, and was grateful to be taken back to her own chambers, where Elsa gave her some medicine and a brief back rub before tucking her in for a short nap. They had tea together after she woke again. During the tea, Anna and Elsa spoke about the resort, the rehabilitation, and then about Elsa's duties. Anna was adamant that Elsa should consider this place her home, to rest and relax as needed and desired, and that they would use the services of the maid as often as required.

Just in speaking the words Anna could see some of the tension leave Elsa's shoulders; her therapist smiled at her and thanked her for her candour in describing her expectations.

The rest of the evening was quite pleasant; they once again had dinner in the dining hall (once again they were separated by class), but after dinner was finished, there was a small concert in the main hall. Feigning a need for her therapist to be nearby, Anna wrangled a seat for Elsa next to her in the hall, and together they listened to a string quartet. After the concert, they retired to their chambers. Elsa gave Anna her evening massage, helped her into bed, and Anna slept deeply and peacefully.

The following day, a Monday, was their first day within the baths themselves. Anna woke with a feeling of excitement and some trepidation; she had never really learned how to swim, for it was not a pastime for the nobility of Norway to go frolicking about in any sort of water. A much younger Anna had started to learn while in Greece, before being hastily summoned home to deal with her father's failing health.

Midmorning, both she and Elsa had dressed in their bathing costumes and went into the large main pool, already occupied by at least five other people and several attendants. Anna found she was actually nervous about being in the water with her legs all paralyzed; the pool was deep!

When Elsa bent down to pick her up and set her down on the edge of the pool, she must have noticed some of Anna's nervousness for she bent close to Anna's ear and whispered, "Be still, my heart. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Okay," Anna replied. She had known it, but it was nice to hear all the same. Elsa soon set her down on the edge and then got into the water, which came to just above her waist. She looked quite slender and willowy in the water, with her white hair piled above her head; like an icy dryad from fairy tales.

"Step by step, my lady," Elsa said, careful to address Anna as required by her station. "Today is only about getting comfortable in the water. We have time for this."

Anna quietly murmured the rest of the sentiment, "We have time for all good things."

Elsa's answering smile at her was bright and strong and necessarily brief, like a comet streaking across the sky. Anna caught the glory of it and stuffed it next to her trembling heart. Elsa reached for her where she sat on the ledge, and took her by her waist to bring her down into the water. It was quite cool, almost cold, and Anna gasped when it came up to her own waist. "Aren't you cold?" she hissed at Elsa, who had entered the water with more than royal equanimity.

"I don't get cold very easily," Elsa admitted. "Blame it on winters in both Canada and northern India. You'll get used to the temperature soon enough, my lady." She soon directed Anna to hold on to the ledge and use her arms to move down into a deeper section of the pool, until the water was at Elsa's shoulders. Then Elsa took her hands once again and drew her into the center of the pool, steering gently around two others. Anna held Elsa's hands rather tightly.

"Your body is made of water, my dear," Elsa whispered as they reached the center of the pool. "It holds within itself a primordial ocean. Ocean calls to ocean, my lady. Close your eyes, and feel the water within you connect with the water without."

Anna did as she was told, as she nearly always did when Elsa gave her commands. She closed her eyes and focused on the water, her body already suited to its temperature. She could feel the ripples of the others in the pool, and she could feel the solid, mountain-like strength of her therapist before her, like an island in the midst of this sea.

"You are floating, my lady. Feel the water buoy you up and support you. Worry not about your legs, they will move about with the currents."

On and on Elsa spoke and instructed, showing Anna that she did, indeed, float upon the water. She tried floating vertically, and horizontally, and Elsa was eventually able to release her hold on Anna and stand back while Anna made small movements with her hands to stay in one place and stay afloat. Eventually she had the courage to use her hands to propel herself in one direction or another, though Elsa was always nearby to put out an arm to catch her if she went flailing. Of course Elsa turned out to be as uncannily skilled in swimming as she was strangely skilled in so many other things; Anna felt a bit envious and wondered just where in the world did a prairie girl learn how to swim? Surely the lakes in Canada and in India would be near-freezing!

And once Anna was used to the sensation of floating, she swiftly fell in love with it. Oh, she was vertical again! Could anyone else understand the beauty of being completely vertical after ten long months of various states of horizontal? The simple joy of it struck deep chords of wonder in her heart. As the time in the pool lengthened, she could actually feel her spine rejoicing as the pressure in her body eased.

This wondrous sensation of being vertical in the water of the pool became the golden thread that began to stitch together her days at the resort. She and Elsa softly fell into a routine of this very different kind of life. They both woke up later than in Norway, and had a proper English breakfast served in their chambers before Elsa gave her a rehabilitation session in their quarters. Then they would shortly don their swimming apparel for several hours in the big pool. This was followed by some luxurious time in the small cave for women, which left Anna incredibly sleepy. Kate, their maid, grew accustomed to serving them a light luncheon in their quarters, after which Anna would sleep for a few hours. In the afternoon, they would read, take a walk, or entertain visitors before once again going into the big pool and small pool. Then back to their rooms, to wash and dress for dinner in the great hall. Anna was often invited to linger after dinner with the other nobles, in light conversation or games of cards, but she nearly as often declined. Elsa's hands and marvellous massage table would be waiting.

Indeed, their schedule was so packed tight with rehabilitation and other activities that quiet moments together in their own quarters were sometimes quite few and far between. Anna briefly regretted this fact; the intimate truth-telling that had occurred upon their arrival was not easy to come by again.

Yet their days were not entirely bereft of Elsa's characteristic affection. She would often linger in the evening massage on those parts of Anna's body that were sweetest, like that place above her hip, and near her neck. Endearments still flowed from her lips when in privacy, words that had never been spoken in such a way to Anna before. She adored them all, from honey to sweetie to dearest heart. In turn, Anna showered Elsa in as much affection as she deemed appropriate, touching her hands or face, and kissing her cheeks. This had somehow become her evening custom; Elsa would tuck her into bed, and Anna would hold Elsa's cool face and kiss each of her cheeks before bidding her nurse a good night.

Even as she kissed Elsa's cheeks in this fashion, Anna remembered how it had felt to hold Elsa in her arms, the day Elsa had left to see her Master in London, and she wondered when circumstances might conspire to allow her to embrace Elsa once more.

And then, if Anna drifted longer upon the edges of sleep, she might wonder why she felt this way towards Elsa. The love she felt for her therapist was already strong and deep, and any thought of Elsa's eventual departure made her feel quite dejected.

As October faded away and November came with wreaths of foggy mists and silvery showers of stinging rain, Anna began to notice that Elsa seemed particularly tired. In those evening kisses she could sense deep exhaustion creeping upon her therapist. Anna tried to rely even more upon Kate, the resort's maid, to give Elsa even more time to rest during these long and sometimes difficult days.

Though it was apparent that some of Elsa's exhaustion came from the short lectures she began giving, two times a week, in the great hall. At first for other attendants, therapists, and resort staff, but soon other patients themselves began to join in.

That was partly Anna's fault, truth be told.

In her evening meals with the other convalescents, Anna didn't even have to introduce the topic of her rehabilitation, for everyone around her was curious about her therapist and the odd techniques she employed. They quizzed her as deeply as they dared about Elsa Wolff and why she did what she did: why she pulled Anna to the very bottom of the deepest end of the pool, there to remain a minute or two, deeply underwater, doing nothing at all. Or the strange poses that Anna made, bending this way and that while breathing, there in the pool itself. Before their sessions in the big pool ended, Elsa had her complete something called 'corpse pose' while floating horizontally on the surface of the water. Anna was used to this position by now, having used it back in Iskall Slott as well.

In those dinner discussions, Anna admitted that she was the recipient of massage, and aromatherapy, and what Elsa called acupressure, as well. The Director eventually asked Elsa to share some of her tips with the rest of them, promising remuneration in return for this valuable knowledge. Anna was not surprised to hear that Elsa had refused all offers of payment; what Elsa knew she would give freely.

One evening, in the second week of November, Anna asked Elsa about it. They had just returned from dining in the great hall, and Elsa was helping her undress. "Why won't you accept their offer of payment, Elsa?" Anna finally asked. "What you know has value, more than you seem to realize."

Elsa thought a moment before speaking; "I know I'm no longer at the monastery, where it was practically accepted that I would give my knowledge in return for food and lodging. And believe me, my lady, I have paid dearly for what I know. But if my knowledge is priceless, as you have led me to believe, then why try to put a price tag on it?"

Elsa's movements were slow this evening, as she helped Anna into her sleeping shift. Anna herself felt tired to the bone, but she somehow perceived that her exhaustion was shallow and near superficial, not like the bone-deep fatigue that trailed her therapist like a grey cloak of gravity and granite.

Then Elsa looked right at her and said, "Besides, Anna, you and your family are giving me all the payment I require for my services. I have no need for more."

"So you have no need for more. But what do you want?" Anna asked.

The question seemed to slip past Elsa's defences, for her nurse stopped moving. She looked right into Anna's eyes. "Truth be told, most of what I want is right here. As for the rest, well, I am trying to burn my wants on the altar of my meditation, just as my Master taught me. Nirvana is this, Anna, to want only what you already have, and no more." She reached up to touch Anna's cheek. "And at least I have you."

Anna covered Elsa's hand with her own, to take those fingers and squeeze them. "Yes, you do. But Elsa, you also need to take care of yourself. I see how tired you have been these last few days. Or weeks, so I've noticed."

It was as if the words themselves unlocked some of Elsa's fatigue, for she seemed to slump just slightly more. Her eyes became very tender and soft, like the petals of high mountain alpine flowers. "You are so kind to me, Anna," she whispered, still holding Anna's fingers.

"Just as you are kind to others," Anna said. "Forgive me, Elsa, but must you still give so completely of yourself even when you are tired, and at the end of your strength? Can you not build a boundary, and preserve your power?"

"My lady, this is where the test of true kindness lies. If I am to receive the gifts of my universe and my God, then this is the price I will gladly pay. These days, I need those gifts very much." She smiled then, though even her lips were wan, and said, "Thank you for your concern. It means a lot to me."

Elsa soon tucked her into bed before she actually leaned in for her goodnight kiss. Anna wanted to hold Elsa's face even longer than usual, but chose instead to focus on what she had.

She had this woman, this star that had appeared in the midnight of her soul, who was serving her so faithfully and so well that the broken ship that had once been her body was being slowly, steadily renewed.

So she kissed Elsa on the cheeks and bid her goodnight, and then watched as her therapist left her chamber.

The room was slightly chilly, though coals still glowed in the grate of her fireplace. Anna snuggled deeper into her blankets and considered this conversation. Something Elsa said tugged gently at memories buried long and deep. But before she could excavate those memories any further, Anna fell asleep.

To wake with brightness and vigour in the morning, eagerly anticipating the day ahead. What miracle might occur this day?

For although the work was draining for Elsa Wolff, it was incredibly exciting and invigorating for Baroness Skaldenfoss, Anna Arendelle. As their third week at the resort began, Anna could look back on their efforts and see small miracles as bright as jewels in the old stale darkness of her mind.

During those first three weeks Anna began to feel Elsa working on her legs, especially at the end of the day, during their final massage. The sensation had started as mere tingles, and then slowly grew more conscious, until she could feel Elsa's hands on her skin, and the sensation of her clothing. While in either pool, Anna began to feel the temperature of the water upon her legs. The simple joy of this sensation allowed her to manage the inevitable pain and soreness that was a result of all this labour, and she found herself smiling in odd moments just because she could.

The only disadvantage was the sensation of pins and needles in her legs; the condition got worse the more her nerves continued to regenerate. Elsa tried new exercises, new herbs, but nothing worked to lessen the volatility of those bumbling curious nerves. Letters were sent to India, and to the teaching hospital in London as well, and Anna knew how eagerly Elsa waited for a response from her mentors.

That didn't stop Elsa; she continued to work Anna extremely hard. Anna's small victories began to accumulate.

There was the day in which Elsa took her in the big pool, guided her to the center of the pool where the water came to just past their waists, and then stood there, holding Anna's hands. She whispered a meditation for Anna's ears alone, and there they stood, eyes closed, hands clasped, feeling the movement and chatter of the others in the pool.

In this state of calm relaxation and trust, Anna suddenly felt grit underneath her feet. She had felt this before, and tried to calm the wild joy in her heart. She could not move her feet, not of her own accord, but they had drifted down and down until they made contact with the bottom of the pool.

"Keep your eyes closed, m'lady," Elsa murmured. "Put your hands on my shoulders, and I'll put my hands on your waist." Anna did as she was told, and felt Elsa's hands firmly above her hips.

Then Elsa pressed softly, yet inexorably down. Anna felt her feet make complete contact with the ground, from the tips of her toes to her heels. "Keep breathing, my dear," Elsa whispered. "Now open your eyes and look down."

Anna did as she was told. Her swimming costume clung to her legs, and revealed the fact that her feet were placed firmly on the ground. It actually took her a moment to realize what that truly meant.

"I'm standing," Anna quietly said, her voice filled with wonder. Her eyes flew up, to latch on to Elsa's caring face. "Elsa, I'm standing!" she repeated, her voice louder this time.

"Yes. You are."

Anna didn't care that they were surrounded by others; these men and women in the baths were no longer strangers to her. She quickly lunged forward and gave Elsa a very brief hug. Even as she did so, she could feel her feet shifting and moving; but Elsa's hands on her waist kept her rooted and strong.

From the edge of the pool, both of the noblemen stopped to look at them. They and their therapist started clapping, calling out, "Bravo, Lady Skaldenfoss. Well done!"

Anna blushed and waved back in return with one hand. Then she looked back at Elsa and said quietly, "I never should have doubted you, Elsa. For some part of me never thought this day would come."

"Even I could not be sure," Elsa replied. "I'm so happy for you, and proud of you as well."

"Do you remember this feeling?" Anna asked. "The first time you stood upon your two legs once again?"

"Oh, yes, my lady. For some memories cannot dim with time."

That evening, Elsa gave Anna an extra long massage. Anna fell asleep with a smile on her face as her legs continued to feel the suppleness of Elsa's fingers upon them.

The next morning, they were just finishing their breakfast and their tea when Kate unexpectedly knocked on the door. She came in, bearing a large vase filled with a glorious arrangement of dried summer flowers. The stunning centerpiece of the bouquet was a single living white lily. "For you, Miss Wolff," their maid said, presenting a shocked Elsa with the bouquet.

"Me?" Elsa replied, her face flushed in surprise and a small measure of embarrassment. Kate curtseyed to her and departed, leaving Elsa to open the small card that had been delivered as well.

Elsa quickly read the card, and then looked at Anna, who was demurely sipping her tea. "You minx, indeed," Elsa said quietly. "Thank you."

"I hope you can look at them, and think of your gifts and talents, for your incredible ability to bring such dried and hopeless things back to life."

There was a strange expression briefly upon Elsa's face, which softened until Anna saw only the calm loving gaze she had grown used to seeing. Elsa turned back to study the bouquet a little longer while Anna drained her tea. When Anna was finished, Elsa looked back at her. "Would you like to try standing again?" she asked.

"Yes, please."

So to the pool they went, and this time Anna was able to stand on her own two feet for a few seconds in time, completely on her own, unsupported by Elsa. Tears of joy eked down her face. "My beautiful, beautiful feet," Anna murmured.

"That's my girl," Elsa replied.

Anna closed her eyes and concentrated just as Elsa had been teaching her; she wanted the memory of this moment to last forever.

…

Only a short time later, midway through November, a nasty cough and flu virus began circulating among the convalescents at the resort. Residents were encouraged to eat in their own chambers instead of in the dining hall; a self-imposed quarantine. Elsa began dosing both of them with her own mix of herbal tea, but, in the end, she couldn't close the doors on this illness.

Anna woke one Wednesday morning feeling a low burn of fever on her cheeks, and a persistent ache throughout her entire body. When Elsa came in the morning, to lay her cool hand over Anna's brow, she frowned and declared that they would not have any sessions in the pool for at least several days, or however long it would take Anna to get better.

Anna spent most of that first day abed as she descended deeper and deeper into the illness. Her fever worsened, and her body was racked with chills. She coughed and coughed until she felt like throwing up. She slept copious amounts of time, sometimes stirring from a thin slumber only to see Elsa napping nearby under a blanket on a comfy chair she had brought from the other room.

That evening, she tried to convince Elsa to stay away, for she feared passing on the illness, but Elsa was adamant not to let Anna suffer alone. "If I catch it, so be it," Elsa said. "Now drink this tea."

The night was difficult, for Anna tossed and turned as she continued to burn with fever. Early in the morning, Elsa came to check on her, and worry was apparent on her face. "I'm about ready to call for the resort doctor," she said. "Anna, sweetie, sit up and drink this broth. You need to stay hydrated."

In the end, Elsa didn't call for the doctor, for Anna's fever broke a few hours later, and she slept deeply until nearly noon that second day.

Still coughing, she convinced Elsa that she could eat lunch like a normal person, and they had a simple meal together in their own quarters. For a wonder, Elsa looked slightly more refreshed, now that they had both been forced to rest for a time. When the meal was over, Anna said, "I'd like to stay here in the lounge for a while, Elsa." She coughed and then continued, "I'm rather tired of my bed."

"Of course, honey. Let me just get you situated on the couch." Elsa soon had her propped up with some pillows, and tucked her legs underneath a blanket. She fetched Anna's book, and some paper to write letters, and stoked the fire. Then she sat on the chair nearby with her own book in hand.

And Anna found herself blessing her illness, for it provided her with these quiet moments to share with Elsa. They had been so busy these last few weeks that these moments of communion had been few and far between. She dearly wanted to converse, any topic would suffice, but her eyelids were already so heavy again, and the fire so warming, and the sensation of the blanket against her toes was soothing, so Anna closed her eyes and fell asleep.

When she woke some time later, she opened her eyes to realize that Elsa was not there. She turned her head this way and that as she sat up, stretching. She still could not command her legs to move even though she often attempted to send those signals down the hissing web of her nerves, so she lifted her knees with her arms so she could sit upright with her feet on the floor.

How glorious it was to feel her feet on the floor! She didn't even care that she couldn't move them of her own accord, for the glory of this sensation was enough, for now. It felt just as wonderful as being able to stand on her feet in the pool.

She glanced up at the clock; it was almost tea-time. Where was Elsa? Anna felt a momentary irritation at Elsa's absence, which she immediately caught and examined.

Hadn't she told Elsa that this was also her home? To do what she needed and desired? Had Anna truly meant those words, or not?

She softened into her seat and smiled. Yes, she meant them. And this moment gave her an opportunity to live what she meant.

So although she felt rumpled, and her hair was mussed, and she wanted some cool water for her sticky throat, Anna sat on the couch and stayed still, listening to the light hiss of wind against the windowpane, even as a gentle dusk began to descend upon Scarborough.

Only a short time later, Anna heard keys in the lock, and the door opened to reveal Elsa. She was bundled in a winter coat, and her cheeks were appled from the cold. There was a basket over her arm. Her keen blue eyes scanned the entire room at once and then she smiled. "Hello, my lady. Forgive me, but I took advantage of your nap to take a quick walk to town." Elsa glanced at the clock. "Hmm, it took longer than I thought. My apologies."

"Don't apologize. This is your home and this is your life. I said before that you may do as you willed. Believe it or not, I meant it." Anna coughed into her sleeve, and Elsa quickly shucked off her jacket and boots so she could come in and check on her.

"I appreciate that," Elsa said as she touched Anna's forehead and cheeks; her hands were chilled. "I went searching for some Eastern medicine, but couldn't find anything. Well, except this other most excellent type of medicine." Elsa reached into her basket and pulled out a small box, which she placed on Anna's lap.

"For me?"

"Of course."

Anna eagerly opened the box and found a small assortment of chocolates inside. She grinned as she took one and bit into it, finding a small nugget of creamy nougat inside. "Oh god, that's amazing," she said, half-closing her eyes so she could revel in the taste. "Elsa, please, have one."

"Thank you," Elsa said, taking one of the chocolates to savour on her tongue. "Oof, that is rather good, isn't it?"

"You have exquisite taste. Thank you."

"You are very welcome." Elsa rose to pour them both glasses of water from the pitcher nearby, and then she quickly combed and braided her own hair before attending to Anna's.

"Eastern medicine?" Anna prompted as Elsa patiently worked through her dense red hair.

"Some herbs and roots I used to use in India for illnesses such as yours. I know where they can be found in London; I will send a telegram to my Master's hospital this evening and see if they can spare me some. I should have thought of it yesterday; but I guess late is better than never. You are still coughing more than I like."

Elsa finished with her hair, and then helped Anna into the bathroom where she could use the facilities and wash her face and hands. Just as she was wheeling Anna back into the sitting room, there was a knock on the door and the jingle of keys. Kate soon entered, bearing a tray of tea and a small plate of scones, clotted cream, and honey. "My apologies, my lady," she said, addressing Anna directly, "but the afternoon post is late, although we expect it within the hour. Shall I return directly with any letters?"

"Please do. Thank you."

After Kate had departed, Elsa asked where Anna would prefer to sit for her tea, and Anna chose the couch once again. Elsa refreshed the fire, and then poured the tea. She sat once again in the other chair and began jotting notes down in the diary Anna now knew was dedicated to records about her own health.

Anna nibbled on her scone and sipped her tea and occasionally burst into coughs as she watched Elsa work. There was something so simple and lovely about Elsa; she radiated peace and warmth like a permanent summer, and Anna just adored being able to bask in this reflected glow. The recent exchange of flowers and candy caused her to think back on their first day together; how far each of them had come!

That initial battle Anna had tried to wage against Elsa and her presence hadn't lasted very long. Thank all the gods for Elsa's persistence!

So she continued to look at her therapist, sifting through her most cherished memories. Elsa wasn't oblivious for long, and she finally raised her head to look at Anna. "Are you all right?" Elsa asked.

"Quite all right, thank you."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, I'm perfectly content."

So Elsa bent to resume her work, but Anna could tell that her therapist was now distracted by Anna's attention. Anna, feeling rather cheeky now, did not cease regarding Elsa in this fashion. Besides, she had always loved looking at beautiful things, and this woman before her, even with her hair slightly mussed and wearing rather plain clothes, was distinctly beautiful.

So she continued to just sip her tea and look at Elsa, with the fire popping so brightly in the grate nearby, and the sound of winter wind against the windows soothing. Anna felt something warm and bright burn steadily in the grate of her own chest, as immeasurable contentment and satisfaction pulsed throughout her entire body. Even sitting here she could feel the blanket against her socked feet, she could taste the richness of the clotted cream on her tongue, she could smell the perfume that Elsa habitually wore.

And she thought, _This is home. This is all the home I have ever wanted, or needed._

And then she thought, _But it cannot last._

But even the sadness that then began to pervade throughout her heart and body was gentle and somehow kind, merging with the joy of moments before. Anna had felt this complexity of emotion before, when she sat at the deathbeds of her two children. She had been with them, rejoicing in the canvas of their lives, content that she had given them the best of her heart, the fierceness of her own fiery nature, yet duly saddened by the darkness that was enveloping them.

Those canvases of life and memory, once so bright, had already begun to dim with the passage of time. Only small pinpricks of brilliant memory remained.

But such was the way of things.

So Anna focused on the tea, and the scone, and the sight of Elsa writing so fluidly in her notebook. Space and time fell away. In this moment she wanted only what she had. She wanted it to last forever.

But it could not.

And that was also the way of things.

For a short time later, there came a knock on the door. Elsa looked up from her notebook and said, "Perhaps that is Kate with the post." She set aside her notebook and rose to her feet to answer the door. As she passed by the couch, she briefly squeezed Anna's toes, there under the blanket. It was a small gesture, but it made Anna glow.

Then she opened the door, and Kate was there. "I'm sorry to disturb you, my lady," the maid said as she bobbed her head. "But I'm here to deliver letters and a package that have but recently arrived."

"Thank you, Kate," Elsa said as she took the items. The maid briefly curtseyed, and then departed.

Anna watched as Elsa closed the door and returned to the couch. She began to hand Anna the letters, but as she turned the package over, Anna heard her audibly hiss.

"What is it?"

"It's for me. From London."

Anna waved her hand in invitation for Elsa to sit and investigate her package. Trying to blunt the edge of her curiosity, Anna opened the first of her two letters, this one from Johan. She began to read it, but it was hard to concentrate. Elsa rarely received any post, though Anna received several letters a week.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Elsa took off the plain brown paper. A box and a letter were within. Elsa opened the letter and began to read.

Finally focusing on her own letter, Anna quickly read it. It was short, and filled with more news from the Baronetcy than news of the family, though she received lots of little stories from Lily and Helene. It didn't take long for her to finish. She began to open the next, this one from Ingrid, when she heard Elsa's breath catch.

Looking over, she saw Elsa set the letter aside.

Her face was somehow both luminous and wretched, and her fingers trembled as she began to open the box.

"Elsa, honey, what is it?" Anna asked.

"Six weeks," Elsa murmured. "Yes, it's been about six weeks."

Only then did she seem to realize that Anna had addressed her, and she paused in her unwrapping and looked over at Anna.

"The letter is from my new Master, all the way from the monastery in India. We knew each other well, during my time there. We studied together. Spilled our dreams to each other. Supported each other in our work, and in our difficulties. I could have loved him even more… had circumstances allowed." Elsa took a deep breath, unaware that her words had caused a strange wrench of jealous sorrow within the Baroness.

"He remained in India, though one of his disciples travelled across the continent, bringing this letter and other items. This monk will stay in London and resume teaching at the hospital. What is in this box is a gift from my new Master. My old friend." She took a shaky inhale. "I scarcely dare open it."

"Feel it first, then," Anna suggested. "Touch the paper. Breathe in its scent. It is not often you receive a package like this, Elsa. This moment is a rare one. Sink in it. I dare say, drown in it."

Elsa blinked at Anna, her eyes still so soft and wounded, and then she did as Anna suggested. Anna could not tear her eyes away, as she watched Elsa stroke the paper and lift it to her delicate nose so she could deeply inhale. She even put her ear against the paper, though the seriousness on her face was belied by the grin that then appeared.

Finally, she untied the knots, unwrapped the paper, and opened the plain wooden box. Again her breath caught in her throat. "Thank you," she breathed, head lifted upward to the very sky. Then she reached inside and pulled out a strange looking golden coloured root. She held it in both hands, like it was a treasure of gold, and closed her eyes. Anna barely heard the prayer that was lifted from Elsa's mouth, as she addressed the universe itself in thanksgiving once again.

Anna had her own thanksgiving prayer, that she was a witness to this moment.

A tickle appeared in her throat, and Anna tried to swallow it down. In the end, she was unsuccessful, and she dissolved into a brief flurry of coughing.

It broke Elsa's strange paralysis, and she set her letter carefully aside so she could come to Anna's side. To her surprise, Elsa sat upon the floor before Anna, arranging her skirts about her, and then handed the box over for Anna to investigate.

Then Elsa put her hand on Anna's knee, to watch, and wait.

Anna felt the pressure of that hand as she looked inside the box. She lifted one specimen of this bizarre golden root (there were three others inside) and asked, "What is this, Elsa?"

"It is ginger root, my dear. The very thing I went into town to find. It has many medicinal benefits, especially when living and fresh, like this is. I used powdered ginger on the voyage here, as it is effective for nausea. It is also an anti-inflammatory, and helps fight infection. I will make you a tea of it, very soon, for your cough and cold."

Elsa began absently stroking Anna's knee with her thumb as she spoke. Although it was distracting, Anna said nothing; it was also extremely pleasant. They continued through the rest of the box, revealing five other herbs and spices. One was a special type of basil, and another spice was called turmeric, which Elsa murmured was excellent for kidney health and was a main ingredient in Indian curries.

When Anna had finished going through the box, she handed it back down to Elsa, only then noticing that Elsa was silently weeping. Anna reached over, to cup Elsa's face and wipe away the tears. "How loved you are," Anna whispered, "even by the very universe itself. To bring this to you, in the very hour of your need."

"I am humbled, yet again," Elsa whispered, allowing Anna this moment to wipe away her tears.

They remained thus, suspended in time, for a little while.

Then Elsa took a shaky inhale and exhale and seemed to brighten. "I will go to the kitchen, my lady," she said, "to prepare you a most excellent tea for your cough." She took one of the golden roots. "This one we may use, but the other two I hope to cultivate, against future use. I will return swiftly."

Half an hour later, Elsa returned, her face still glowing with happiness and thanksgiving. A pot of tea and two cups were on a tray, along with a small pot of honey. Elsa poured the tea and handed it to Anna. "You may take an exploratory sip, my lady," she advised. "After which you may want to add some honey."

Anna blew on the tea and then sipped. The taste was somehow sharp and rich and spicy all at the same time. "Wow," she breathed. "I've encountered ginger before, but never from a still living plant." She sipped again, and then decided to add a bit of honey. "That's remarkable."

Elsa poured herself a small cup as well, but left most of it for Anna. Then, to Anna's delight, Elsa sat down on the opposite end of the couch, and she was slightly turned to face Anna.

"There was a time I used to believe in coincidence," Anna said. "But no more. Not when such things happen as this."

"How did that change?" Elsa asked, taking Anna's socked foot in her hands, to lightly rub.

Anna grinned. "I don't believe I've told you the story of the secret soup kitchen I operated during the war."

"You definitely have not. I'm all ears."

"The idea came to me shortly before my son came home with Helene. I was visiting with Mother Magda, down in the village, when a man knocked on the door, begging for a crust of bread to eat. It was obvious to us that he was a veteran of the war, for his foot was wrapped up, and he walked on a rude stick. Neither of us recognized him, but neither did we care. Mother Magda immediately went into her larder to heat up some soup, and from him we heard his tale."

Anna sipped more of her tea, and then continued. "Several days later, Mother Magda heard another knock on her door. Another serviceman had heard of this kindness, and begged a crust to eat. When Magda told me this tale later, I decided that something had to be done. Hans and I were the proper authorities of this area, and I felt it was our responsibility to feed and clothe these poor men, sailors who had no family and no home. Lily and I began stealing food from our own kitchens and taking them down to the village."

"Forgive me, my lady, but how do you steal from yourself?"

Anna made a wry face. "Steal from my husband, I should say. For he was often a calculating man, not driven to generosity, save he should receive even more in a reward. Understand me, he was not cruel. Only… short-sighted." Anna could have thought of more words to describe her late husband, but decided to stop there.

Elsa's face looked intensely curious about this information regarding Hans, but Anna did not want to think of him now, so she continued with her tale. "We began operating the kitchen three times a week, all from Magda's home in the village. I knew I couldn't keep it secret from Hans for too long, for the household accounts would show the discrepancy soon enough. But just the third week of our labour, a strange storm came upon the sea, driving schools of fish into the nets of our local fisherman. These good men, having heard of our kitchen, donated large amounts of fish to us. I employed these servicemen, those who were well enough, to help us in smoking and curing the fish. That gift of fish enabled me to hide the accounts from Hans for three months. Three months in which we fed many hungry mouths. That was the coincidence of which I spoke. Which was no coincidence at all."

"May I ask you something?" Elsa asked, still rubbing Anna's feet. "If it's too personal, just say so."

"Go on, then."

"How did the Baron react when he did find out?"

"In a word? Explosively." Anna grimaced in memory, and said no more. She would not burden Elsa with the knowledge of Hans' sharp tongue. "But then Leif was sent home to us, and Hans saw how desperate our sons' situation was, and knew then the plight of those poor men who were without ties of home and family."

"How kind you are, to put your own relationship at risk," Elsa remarked. "To face the wrath of someone close to you."

"Leif said something about kindness, only a few days before he died."

"What did he say?" Elsa's voice was very quiet.

"He said that anyone could be kind when the sun is shining, and life is comfortable, and the price of such kindness almost for nought. But to be kind at the end of all strength, to be kind though you yourself will suffer for it, is the truest kindness of all. He told me he witnessed such kindness, and he was able to die at home because of it."

To Anna's shock, Elsa's face began to transform, from her earlier rapt attention to a most ravaged visage of grief.

Anna leaned over, and put her hand on Elsa's hand, there on her foot, thereby stilling Elsa's motion. "Elsa. What is it?"

"I have something to tell you. Something I've been meaning to tell you for a long time, but couldn't find the courage or the moment to do so. Perhaps… this is the moment, my lady."

Anna's heart began to thump, thick and hard, in her breast. What could Elsa possibly reveal?

"I have never wanted to force your confidence," Anna slowly said. "I have been curious about you and your life since first we met. Know this, Elsa, that I trust your judgment, in what to share with me, and when."

"And I appreciate that more than I can possibly say. You asked me once if I needed to keep my stories as wood and oil, to burn on the altar of my spirit. The partial answer is yes. But I also recognize moments when the universe itself is kicking me, and this is one of those moments."

Anna, having come to know Elsa quite well in these last few months, stayed silent.

"Anna, my dear, I want to talk about your son, Leif."

Anna sharply inhaled. She didn't know what to expect, but she didn't expect that. "What about Leif?"

Elsa's face was incredibly pained, and Anna tried to prepare herself for whatever tidings her nurse would now bring. "You know I served in the war. What you don't know is that your son and I both served in the Fifth Army, under the command of General Hubert Gough. We shared the same camp for nearly a year. I was the Head Nurse at the field hospital, for I was one of the few formally trained nurses in the camp. The rest were volunteers, part of the Voluntary Aid Detachment."

Anna took a sip of her ginger tea. Her heart was already beating fast and hard in her chest. She had known of Elsa's service in the war, but how was it even possible that her life had converged with the life of her dear son?

"It was March of 1918," Elsa continued, now barely able to meet Anna's gaze. "My nurses and I were battling an outbreak of dysentery and typhus among the enlisted men. My own girls were falling ill because of it. I was making my rounds one night, in the middle of the night, and I saw a young officer sitting up in bed, looking out the window at the full moon in a cloudless sky. It illuminated him quite brightly, though the night leeched all colour from him. I saw that he was still feverish and vomiting, so I came to bring him clean towels and some warm tea.

"He seemed so incredibly young to me, Anna, and he was so very sick. He took the tea I offered, believe me that it was meagre at best, and begged me to stay with him for a moment. I was very exhausted, so I sat down on the edge of his bed. He started to speak to me, and told me that his name was Leif Arendelle, and that he was the second son of a Baron from Norway. I was astonished, for I knew Larvik, and had heard of the Baron Skaldenfoss, for I had been there visiting family before the war."

A distinct and incredibly deep pain began to form in the vicinity of Anna's heart, and a boulder of renewed loss coagulated in her throat. How was this even possible?

"The tea and the talk seemed to calm him. Leif reached under his pillow and withdrew two photos to show to me. The first was his wedding picture. He softly spoke of his new bride, the daughter of a farmer that he had met shortly after arriving in France. By their third chance encounter, he knew he wanted to marry her, and he did so over his Christmas leave in 1917. He told me that he spent the holiday with her family and married her without permission from his father. I don't remember Leif's exact words, but he told me that his father would likely be furious with him. When I asked about his mother, he gave me a most exquisite smile, the same smile I have seen upon your own face, my dearest heart," Elsa said, squeezing Anna's foot. "He said that he had always had a deep and beautiful connection with his mother, who was a kind and generous woman, who had taught him to fall in love with the world. Even this world, in my hospital tent, with sickness and uncertainty. For his mother's love had brought beauty to all sorts of unbeautiful things."

Tears slipped from Anna's eyes and flowed unheeded down her cheeks. Every word Elsa spoke was tearing apart her heart.

"I don't remember everything he said that night. I was very tired, and he was one of many I served. But I wanted to speak to him, for his youth and his simple goodness was a balm to my own overworked spirit. I asked to see the second picture he held, and he showed it to me. It was a picture of his family, standing in front of a castle. The sun had been shining. It looked so picture perfect; two parents, two boys, two girls. I remember staring at it, Anna. I remember… staring at you."

Anna knew that picture well. She carried it with her, always.

"Johan had just enlisted," Anna whispered. "He had just turned 19, and was about to leave for special training in Oslo before joining the navy. I was terrified. Leif was only 16, but he talked about going to war the moment he was old enough. The day that picture was taken was the last time my whole family was together." Anna reached up, her hand trembling, and wiped the tears from her face. "What happened next?"

"I got called away," Elsa said. "I had to leave him. I tucked him into his blankets and told him to sleep. He held my hand a moment before I left, and thanked me for spending time with him. He said that I was kind." Elsa abruptly stopped talking. Her eyes were rimmed red and welling with tears. "Now that I've met you, my lady, I can see you in him. In his nose, in his mouth, in his quiet and determined nature."

Anna choked back a sob and reached for her handkerchief to wipe her tears. "Finish your story, please, Elsa. I cannot bear this."

Elsa dabbed at her own eyes with her handkerchief. She cleared her throat before continuing, "I saw him the next afternoon and he was feeling much better. I discharged him the following morning. I now wish I hadn't. But I didn't know, how could I have known?"

Elsa paused and took a deep breath. "He rejoined his regiment. Two days later our army, the Fifth Army, was caught in the opening barrage of Operation Michael. German forces penetrated our lines, and shelled everything in their path, including our command tents and field hospitals. I cannot even tell you about the chaos of those horrifying days, when soldier after soldier came into our tents. By some miracle, he was brought to mine. I saw your son again. He came to me, to my tent."

Anna closed her eyes. She could not bear to keep them open. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and her heart continued to tremble and burn.

Leif, her dear Leif!

"I recognized him as the young man I had spoken with. I knew who he was. I called a nurse over and we worked on him until the surgeon came. I stayed with him, and assisted the surgeon with the amputation of both of his lower legs."

Anna remembered seeing her son in the hospital in Larvik, and having Dr. Lund tell her about the quality of the amputation, which had been remarkably done for field work. Uncannily so.

Now Anna understood. It had been by Elsa's hand.

Elsa Wolff had saved the life of her son.

"Some trucks made it through to our tents the next morning," Elsa said, her voice low amid the turbulent dark of Anna's eyelids. "The head doctor informed me that Leif was to be evacuated to Paris. But I had such a bad feeling about that, an intuition that I could not explain nor deny, that I defied him. I forged his signature on the papers and signed Leif on for evacuation all the way home to Norway. I had to get him out; I had to get him home. I thought of his young French wife, I thought of his parents. So I watched as Leif was placed in the truck, and I saw that truck drive away. I never knew his fate after that. I couldn't, for the horrifying offensive by the German army only continued and worsened those next few days. I never knew his fate until I returned to Iskall Slott, and heard the story from Gerda and the other servants."

Elsa stopped talking, and Anna could hear that her breath was hoarse. She wanted to look at her nurse, and comfort her, but in this moment she could not.

Anna was suffocating with memory.

Where Johan had taken after Hans in many ways, Leif had been Anna's beloved son, so similar to her in appearance and temperament. She had adored the little boy he had been, and loved the young man he had become.

When he had returned to Norway, his pregnant bride anxious and unsure at his side, Anna had felt all the love she had showered upon him change and transform; the canvas of his life had images and memories that she would never have the opportunity to know.

That he had been returned to her had been enough, at the time. She would celebrate all that he had become.

"My lady?" she heard Elsa ask.

"Give me a moment, please," Anna choked out.

Leif had been home. He had come back with a wife, and without his legs. Anna was able to share a week with him before he passed away. She had been able to bury him in the family cemetery. He wasn't one of thousands they had read about in the papers, the boys who had died in no man's land and were left there to rot, unburied and unknown.

In this moment, it was unfathomable that fate had reached back so very far.

Elsa Wolff, falling on the boulders in India for Anna. Elsa Wolff, in the tents of France, saving the life of her son.

 _There is no such thing as coincidence_.

Elsa was the family Arendelle's personal angel.

Dr. Lund had visited often, that last week of Leif's life. Her son had been conscious, but ailing. The amputation of his legs had been so precise for field work. But once the infection started, there was nothing more to be done. Sepsis did what Germans and the Great War could not.

Even those last days, sitting at his deathbed, Anna had somehow realized that her son would live on. Death could not part them, not forever.

And now?

Anna sat on the couch and wept, hearing the crackling of the fire in the grate, hearing Elsa's rough breathing.

For Anna remembered the last midnight conversation she had ever had with Leif.

Leif had slept in strange patches of lucidity in the final stages of his illness. One night, early in May of 1918, he had been awake and remarkably aware. Helene had finally fallen asleep in the bed next to him and Anna had been dozing in a chair by the fire. Leif had called to her, so Anna sat with him. That night, they spoke of the life he wanted for his wife and his unborn child. He wanted them to stay at Iskall Slott and be made welcome there, for he wanted his child to have the same loving and protected childhood that he had had. They then spoke of his childhood, how he had always looked up to and emulated Johan, but they could not be the same. Leif had finally embraced his own individuality, and forged his own path through life.

Such soft, small and wonderful things they spoke of that night.

They even spoke of the war, though Leif was reticent on this topic and would not openly share his memories of the front. But he spoke of the brutality of war, and its chaos, and that he sometimes wondered at the fate of humanity. But then there would be some act of kindness that would restore his faith in humanity.

"Anyone can be kind when things are going well, when the sun is shining and the world is beautiful," he had said. "But to be kind in darkness, to be kind though you yourself will suffer for it; I am glad I witnessed such kindness, mother. I am here because of such kindness."

Anna took several long and deep breaths, bringing her tears under marginal control.

God, how she missed him!

Finally she was able to open her eyes, and the first thing she saw was Elsa's devastated face.

This woman. Elsa Wolff. Leif had been speaking of her in his final hours.

Anna extended her hand, there over her barely-paralyzed legs. She opened her palm and reached. Elsa lifted her hand and, trembling, put it into Anna's.

Anna clasped it.

This was the hand that had sewn her son's arteries shut. This was the hand that had soothed his brow. This was the hand that had defied orders, and forged the signature that had brought her son home.

This hand.

This was the hand that had massaged Anna's body. This was the hand that had supported Anna in the pool, helping her to stand on her own two feet. This hand, so curious, so talented, so uncanny, had stretched forth in invitation, daring Anna to live again.

Anna held this hand, and then bent over so she could bring it to her lips. She kissed it, and some of her tears fell upon it, and she finally understood the true nature of kindness.

To be kind was to do what is right, no matter the discomfort, no matter the cost.

Her eyes open, Anna kissed Elsa's hand one more time, her fingers pressing into Elsa's cool palm. She saw Elsa shudder, she witnessed even more tears slip down Elsa's cheeks.

"Thank you, Elsa Wolff," Anna whispered. "Thank you for telling me this story. But know that there is no way I can properly thank you for your service to my son, for saving his life, and bringing him home to me."

Elsa swallowed and nodded. She could not speak.

"And now, would you please excuse me? I feel the need for a long cry, and I'd rather not do that here."

"Of course, my lady," Elsa croaked. Her hands were awkward and clumsy as she helped Anna into her wheelchair, and then she pushed Anna into her bedroom.

"You can leave me here," Anna said quietly.

"Ring for me if you need me, my lady," Elsa whispered. "I'm here for you."

"I know you are. Thank you."

Anna could feel Elsa's reticence as her nurse left her in her wheelchair. Yet Elsa closed the door behind her, leaving Anna in the darkness of her bedchamber. She wheeled over to her lamp, and turned it on. And then she opened the top drawer of the bureau nearby. Under her silk scarves and gloves was a framed portrait, already slightly yellowed around the edges.

It revealed Iskall Slott under benignly sunny skies, and her entire family was there. Hans had his arm about her waist. Ingrid and Heidi stood next to each other on one side, and Johan and Leif were on the other.

That younger Anna had been so oblivious to the terrifying machinations of fate; only eight years had passed, yet half of this family was gone.

Anna lifted this picture to her lips and kissed each of them, her dear ones, her departed loves. She kissed Hans, and Heidi, and Leif. One by one.

But even then her thoughts turned to Lily, and Helene, and Tomas. She thought of her grandchildren as well, those dear souls that had blessed the Arendelle family with their presence.

 _They live on,_ she thought. _For some things cannot be touched by time. Some things are immortal._

Anna put the picture on her bed. She grabbed her pillow, curled herself over it, and sobbed until she lost the thread of her consciousness.

…

Out in the sitting room, Elsa also wept.

She had held that story in her for so very long. After the war, when she had finally returned to India and the possessions she had entrusted to her Master, she had read the guidebook again. In its pages she discovered that she had once again circumvented fate.

The guidebook had one sentence dedicated to the whole soul and being that was Leif Arendelle. How could his life be so shockingly condensed so?

In the guidebook, it stated that the youngest son of Baron Skaldenfoss had died in France after being caught in the Spring Offensive, leaving a young French bride as his widow.

So short. So final. And unreal.

It felt right to finally share this story with her lady. Though, at this point, Elsa wondered if she would ever have the chance to share the rest of it.

Leif was only one part of this story. Catriona was another. And the army trial was the last. Elsa hadn't really expected her forgery to go unnoticed, or unpunished.

Yet the final punishment she had received was still hard to bear. She felt it even now, in that place above her kidneys that was always a little sore.

Now that she was here, she really wondered, just how long had the universe been spooling them together, Elsa Wolff with the Arendelle family?

Elsa wept, but they were clean tears. It felt right to finally tell Anna this story. Her Master in London had told her to stop being selfish, hoarding her stories and thereby her life. He had given painful but true words to her.

 _"_ _I want you to think of what Catriona said,"_ he had whispered to her. _"You must let someone break your heart. And then your heart will break wide open."_

There was so much to share! But even now Elsa felt hesitant. Was her lady truly interested in hearing Elsa's stories, or was she only being polite? As much as Elsa wished they could be friends and companions, the truth was they were not. The lady she served was the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss. Elsa was her servant. She had come across decades and continents, only to somehow end up in the service of a Norwegian noblewoman. Her younger self would never have believed it.

Now that she had thought of her late Master, Elsa remembered something else they had talked about upon his deathbed in London.

 _"_ _I keep thinking I'm going to wake up someday, back in my own time, and in my own home,"_ Elsa had said. " _This will all have been a dream. But it's not. This is my life now, after the lightning. Guruji, why did you ever believe my story? And how do I dare tell my lady the truth?"_

 _"_ _The lightning only strikes those who need it,"_ he had responded, his voice thick and hoarse. _"There are those among us; monks, nuns, mortals, who have learned how to call the lightning. How to plead with the universe to change us, to transform us, to make us grow. Do not question the lightning any longer. You have come to us, with skills, with knowledge, and yet with blankness. Your journey through time has taught you that your knowledge means nothing without compassion._

 _"_ _The lightning came to you, because you were ready for it. You were ready to learn something. What did you learn, Elsa?"_

Elsa had to answer.

 _"_ _That there is a divine force that seeks to create beauty out of all chaos. And that this divine force will always be unfathomable, beyond comprehension, for that is the nature of our journey, to realize for ourselves our divinity and our link with this force."_

 _"_ _You are correct. Elsa, I needed no other proof than your word. What does it mean to me, that you come from the future? Others might need more. All I can say is that you must trust yourself. Learn to love yourself, deeply and fully. Meditate often, and strengthen your bond with the universe. Then you will recognize the moments that come, when you must share your secrets. I know this, Elsa, that you love the lady you serve. And, by loving her, you must burden her with your secrets. You must assault her with your truth. This is kindness as well, to share the cesspools of the spirit as well as the peaceable seas._

 _"_ _For mountains cannot exist without valleys. You know this, Elsa."_

 _"_ _Guruji, believe me, I do."_

Elsa drifted in these thoughts for a long time, and only came to her senses when the fire disintegrated in the grate, sending up golden red sparks as it died a slow and gentle death. She shook her head and looked at the clock; it was just shy of dinner time. Kate would soon arrive with their evening meal.

How strange it was to exist on a plane other than this one, and then to be summarily subjected to such inane and mundane things as food!

Elsa realized that she was listening for any sound that came from Anna's bedchamber.

Elsa thought of Leif, that earnest and beautiful young man, and of the picture he had shown her. How shocked she had been to see that young man's photograph, so long ago, and recognize that woman as the one from the postcard she had bought in Larvik!

Perhaps there was no such thing as coincidence.

Perhaps the lightning truly came because she needed it most.

A short time later, Kate knocked on the door, and brought in their meals. Elsa rubbed her face and thanked her. When prompted, Kate revealed that most people were starting to recover from the cold or flu virus that had run rampant throughout the resort. Elsa thanked her, inwardly glad that it was almost over.

For although Leif was gone, Johan remained. And he needed to dance with his mother by the lights of a Christmas tree.

Which meant that Anna needed to get into the pool.

After Kate had left, Elsa went to Anna's chamber. She listened at the door for a moment, but heard nothing. She lifted her hand to knock, and then stayed her hand. She opened the door a crack and peered over the jamb.

Anna was still in her wheelchair, still in her day dress, but she was slumped over the edge of her bed, a framed portrait in her hands. Sudden fright made Elsa's face go ashen, but then she noticed the steady rise and fall of her lady's breath.

Anna had fallen asleep. Yet her cheeks were streaked with tears.

"Oh, sweetheart," Elsa breathed.

Elsa crept into the room and reverently took the picture. She looked at it and recognized it immediately. It was the same one that Leif had shown her, that day in the field tent.

Looking at it, Elsa once again felt the familiar sense of jarring familiarity; Elsa put out her finger and touched the photographic aspect of her lady, standing next to her husband.

Anna couldn't have known of the connection that would eventually be forged between them. She had just been a lady in a picture.

Elsa keenly remembered seeing Anna in the postcard, in that shop in Larvik before the lightning. She had been so innocent, so naïve.

Was the universe itself being kind, even now, to send her back in time to serve this one family?

Was her life nought but the result of the strange and perverse kindness of the universe who loved her?

Why else would there be such awful pain in her back, and in her soul?

And though her back ached greatly where old scars pulled at her, Elsa bent down and gently picked up her lady. Anna woke slightly, and murmured something unintelligible. "Hush now, my lady, my heart," Elsa soothed, placing Anna on her side in her bed. She took off Anna's shoes, contemplated the dress, and decided to let her sleep in it.

Let her sleep as long as she could. One way or another, day would come again.

...

 **Dear Readers:** Thank you for believing in me.

You may have noticed that this story went 'dark' for a while. I have a good reason. I was writing the original story of 'Dark Horse'.

And I finished it. At quarter to eight pm, on New Year's Eve. I must admit, I was rather upset for a while. My stories are my life. But I have beautiful hopes for Dark Horse, and for this story as well.

So as the new year begins, 2019, I want you to know something. I intend on finishing The Endless Sea. There may be small lulls in the writing, but nothing will stop me from completing this story. I love it so much. It is teaching me amazing things. Please join me on this journey, as I hope to finish this book in 2019.

Above all else, let love prevail.

-Jen


	15. Chapter 15 - Gifts

**Chapter Fifteen**

 **Gifts**

Anna was a bit withdrawn over the next few days, as she continued to recover from her illness. She used this time to absorb the information that Elsa had given her, and settle in her mind the additional and until now invisible presence that this woman had had in Anna's family. During these days, Elsa was as solicitous and caring as always, prepared to offer assistance at a moment's notice, but she also gave Anna the quiet time and space she needed.

So Friday, Saturday and Sunday passed. Anna wrote letters (none of which shared Elsa's newest secret about Leif), read books, embroidered in the library, and begged Elsa to take her back into the pool. Her nurse was being obdurate in insisting that Anna be fully recovered before going into those waters again.

So when Monday finally came and Elsa deemed her healthy enough for rehabilitation, Anna felt immensely eager to resume their routine. Christmas was still over a month away; what progress could she make in the nearly six weeks that remained?

In all her letters home, Anna had remained guarded about her progress. She finally revealed that she could feel sensation on her legs, though she also added that she still couldn't move any of her muscles of her own accord. The letters she received in return were cheerful and rousing; they all remained hopeful of Anna's eventual cure. Anna didn't want to disappoint them, but neither did she want to place too great a burden on Elsa's shoulders. Her therapist was already giving Anna every ounce of her thought, dedication and strength.

That Monday morning, Anna slipped into the big pool with a smile on her face for being able to feel the temperature of the cool water on her body. It was the first time she had entered the pool since hearing of Leif's fate; she thought of his strangely truncated legs and gave brief thanks to the universe for giving her no greater burden than a compressed spine and bumbling nerves.

She and Elsa began with a healing meditation in the center of the pool, the water up to their waists. Anna had her hands on Elsa's shoulders, and Elsa had her hands on Anna's waist, keeping her feet grounded against the bottom of the pool. There they remained, eyes shut, as Elsa whispered a meditation of golden light. Anna could feel that light, that eternal summer of her limitless mind, roving steadily throughout her limbs, from her heart centre down her arms and into her hands, and down her legs and into her feet.

Then they floated, and swam with their upper arms; Anna felt weak from the lack of activity during her illness, and was easily tired from paddling about like a dog. Later in the session, she held on to the edge of the pool and bounced along, using her arms to move forward a step, then pushing down so she could feel the pool against her feet. It was the closest thing to actual walking she had experienced in months, and she quickly sported an exhausted grin on her face.

Soon completely worn out, Elsa took her out of the big pool and into the hot, slightly sulphurous scented steaming water of the cave. Elsa seemed to sink with a great deal of delight into this hot water; after getting Anna situated, Elsa leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

Giving Anna a chance to just look at her, the long white plane of her neck, the hair that hung in wet tendrils by her face, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she meditatively breathed.

In Anna's mind, Elsa was still somehow unreal; she was moonlight, she was starlight, she was an angel made flesh… She was here, but there was something about her that just didn't belong. Anna didn't know why she felt this, only that she did.

Thinking her deep and meaningful thoughts, Anna gladly sank under the surface of this hot water, slicking her hair with it, before resting against the side of the pool. She felt gloriously, remarkably content. This moment was utter perfection.

Somewhat to her surprise, Elsa spoke, though she kept her eyes closed. "Do you ever have moments so simple and yet so good that you tell yourself that this is what it feels like to arrive?"

"To arrive?" Anna prompted. "Tell me more."

Elsa finally opened her eyes, and looked at Anna. The room was dark, so her eyes were pools of cobalt and midnight. "Arriving. It's like coming home. It's knowing the journey has been long and difficult, but everything is as it should be. Because here we are. We've arrived, just as if it were destined to be."

"I'm starting to realize that these moments occur as often as we put our awareness on them," Anna replied. "For joy is not only to be found in milestone moments, like the birth of a child or a celebration of success. It is also to be found in music, in dance, in a single lopsided flower or persistent pebble. It is here. It is everywhere."

Elsa's eyes were wide open, as if drinking Anna in. "You truly are a kindred spirit, Anna," she whispered.

"You were the one who opened my eyes, Elsa. Without you, I would have remained blind and dozing. Everything I have learned and achieved, I have you to thank." Anna would have said more, but then the Dowager Countess of Hillgarrow came into the pool and Anna had to focus on conversing with her.

Now that Anna had spoken the words aloud, she tried to live them more often. She asked Elsa to teach her more about meditation, and they began meditating together both morning and evening. Anna tried imbuing her everyday life with awareness, so that when anxiety and pain came, she was able to acknowledge those feelings, to work with them, to move through them, and let them bring her to the other side.

Pain occasionally intensified, especially if their morning training session had been arduous. One afternoon, after tea, Anna was gifted with an especially terrible headache; one of which she hadn't experienced in weeks.

But Elsa was there to help her. She gave Anna some medicine, and put her in her cool dark room, to rub her temples with ointment and swipe with her hands from Anna's forehead across her scalp, soothing something she called the central meridian. She massaged Anna's hands and wrists.

And she spoke as well, reminding Anna of certain truths that were deeper than flesh and bone.

"You are so perfect, Anna," Elsa whispered. "Even now, you are whole and complete. You were not made wrong. And even now, you are not broken. You are not missing anything. Every problem is a portal, a doorway to access the invisible energy field of the body. We are such amazing creatures, capable of adapting to every given moment, every circumstance. Your pain is a conversation, my dear. We are simply opening up a dialogue. Let the pain talk to you, let it teach you."

When Elsa pressed a cool cloth on her forehead, and bade her rest between her sheets, Anna's thoughts drifted. What was this pain teaching her? What was their dialogue?

And because she had asked the question, the answer then came.

 _You want love and intimacy more than anything in this world_

 _You crave connection and belonging_

 _Has the universe truly denied you this?_

 _Or have you somehow denied yourself?_

 _Ask yourself, Anna, what are you withholding in order to protect yourself?_

 _Just what are you so afraid of?_

It was a sobering thought, which often ghosted through her mind as the week continued to progress. At times the thought crystallized, piercing Anna with insights. To her surprise, she found that she was afraid of establishing this deep connection with another human being, because what if she was hurt again as Hans had so often hurt her?

Yet she was as equally afraid of spending the rest of her life alone, a crutch to her family, haunting the upper halls of her home like an unruly ghost, desperately filling her hours with futile pursuits.

When those moments of darkness and mental pain came to her, Anna tried to focus on what she had.

She had Scarborough. She had Elsa.

She had time for this, for there was time for all good things.

And time continued to take Anna and her therapist inexorably towards the month of December.

…

November 23.

Elsa seemed fatigued this morning, both during and after their shared meditation. She ate her breakfast slowly, and couldn't finish it all. She had requested lemon juice, and drank as much of it as the resort could spare. Lemons had to be transported to England from Spain, and were much prized as a result. A little alarmed by Elsa's tiredness, Anna tried to convince her not to take them into the pool, but Elsa refused. "Perhaps a shorter session today," she said, "but I think we could both use the exercise."

A short time later Elsa wheeled her into the big pool room, where the men were already exercising with their attendants. They greeted Anna and Elsa with all the dignity required by Anna's station; Anna wished she could just be 'Anna' with these kindred spirits of heartache and pain instead of the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss.

As had become their custom, they began the session with a meditation in the center of the pool, and then began to work through their customary exercises. As she moved about in the water, paddling and floating, Anna sent signals down her legs again and again, just wishing she could ask them to move!

Even Elsa grew more commanding, her voice filled with faith and determination as she said, "Move your feet, Anna. Send the intention down from your mind, all the way down your beautifully intact spine, coursing down the legs in a golden healing flood, and move those feet! Believe it can happen, honey. Trust your spine, trust your gorgeous, perfect feet. And move those feet."

But Anna still couldn't.

Finally slightly dejected and tired out, Anna and Elsa were holding on to the edge in the deepest portion of the pool. Anna could feel her legs dangling below her, but she just couldn't move them!

"Hmm," Elsa said a few moments later. "I have an idea."

"Wha-!"

Elsa suddenly grabbed both of Anna's arms and violently pulled her away from the edge of the pool, out into the deep end, before letting go and swimming away. Surprised and frightened, Anna flailed about with her arms.

And she moved her legs.

Just like an ancient key finally turning in a rusty and neglected lock, Anna's legs and feet moved of their own volition for the first time in eleven months. Anna knew it was only because of that primal survival instinct; her legs seared with adrenaline and her fright quickly turned to elation. Her legs continued to pump about, desperately trying to keep her afloat. She could barely control them; they moved without her mental intervention.

"I moved my feet!" she crowed in triumph, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Look at my legs!"

But then she floundered, and her head sunk under the surface of the water. Elsa was soon there to take her hands and tow her back to the edge of the pool. Her nurse's face was gleaming with satisfaction and joy. The men were cheering for her again.

Already Anna had lost the sensation of willpower, and she could no longer move her legs by her own volition. They had gone still again, drifting about with the currents of the water.

But they had moved. Yes, they had.

"My god, Elsa," she said, panting with exertion and the last vestiges of her earlier panic. "You cheeky monkey."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Let's see if it will work again."

They tried several more times, but Elsa couldn't take her completely by surprise as she had done before. Her legs, having moved once, decided to stay quiescent. "No matter," Elsa said as she eventually began to help Anna out of the pool. "This was a huge milestone, my lady. It will come again."

…

And so it did, the very next day. Then again two days later. That time, Anna hadn't even needed to be surprised or frightened; she was doing her bouncing trick off the bottom of the pool when her knees decided to bend a little, and her calves to clench and release, and Anna herself curled her toes in order to make the next little jump.

This time she did not crow her delight; she kept it inside her, where it pulsed and spooled and made her vibrate with joy she had rarely experienced.

Elsa, watching her nearby, was similarly quietly exultant.

That evening, she and Elsa dressed for a concert to be held in the main hall of the resort. Once again, the staff tried to separate Anna and Elsa by class, and, once again, Anna completely resisted. She insisted that Elsa be seated next to her and even gently chided the resort staff on abiding by these out-dated customs and rituals. The butler seemed rather disgruntled as he left them; his gleaming shoes squeaked on the floor as he strode away.

"Thank you, my lady," Elsa said as she settled into her chair next to Anna in her wheelchair. She made a small oomph of noise as she sat back; a wince momentarily creased Elsa's face.

"Are you all right?" Anna asked.

"My back is a little sore tonight," Elsa admitted. "But otherwise, I'm fine."

"If only anyone else around here knew massage half as well as you do, you yourself could benefit from a treatment."

"I give what I seem never to receive," Elsa breathed, but then her cheeks coloured, as if she hadn't intended to say something like that aloud. She glanced at Anna. "Forgive me, my lady. I have no intention of being melancholic on a night like tonight, after your victory of today."

Anna wanted to respond, but then the string quartet finished making their preliminary sawing noises and silence descended upon the hall.

Anna could barely pay attention, though she could tell that the group was quite skilled. Her mind revolved around Elsa's recent words, and the sight of triumph on her face when Anna had moved in the water. She replayed today's moment over again in her mind; she could still feel the rush of cool water against her skin, the vigour of each bouncing step, and then the conscious glory of her toes deliberately crunching and curling against the gritty bottom of the pool.

The entire world fell away, so enchanted Anna became at the sensation of shoes on her feet, in the rustle of silk over her knees. She began to meld with the music, sinking the entirety of her perception into this one moment; her upper body slightly swayed, and she tapped her fingers against the armrest of her wheelchair. During one particularly lively composition, Anna started sending soft and gentle requests to her beautiful perfect feet, to simply tap her toes in time with the music.

Her consciousness distilled even further, becoming a single teardrop of intention, a single gentle and glorious request.

Feel the music. Tap the toe.

A minute or two later, as the song was nearing its completion, Anna was successful.

To her endless surprise and immense delight, Anna watched as her toe moved.

Firmly. Deliberately. Anna actually tapped her toe. Her foot lifted ever so slightly from the footplate of her wheelchair before descending again. Astonished, Anna did it one more time, just to be sure it wasn't some strange coincidence.

So she sent down the thought, and her toe moved up and down.

Just as she had asked.

A tidal wave of elation crested over her body, and her eyes welled up in tears. She turned her head and touched Elsa's arm. Elsa looked over at her, and Anna's breath suddenly caught in her throat; Elsa looked so pale and lovely tonight. She had lightly lined her eyes in kohl, and put a hint of dark red lipstick on her lips, and the gown she wore was one of Anna's favourites, for it sparkled in shades of silver and winter blue. Elsa had pinned up her white hair tonight, save for long tendrils that hung like lovers by her neck.

Elsa tilted a single exquisite eyebrow in silent questioning, and Anna looked down at her feet. Elsa followed her gaze, and looked at Anna's feet.

Anna tapped her foot again.

A wondrous and plentiful harvest of joy appeared on Elsa's face; it utterly transformed her! "That's incredible, my lady," she whispered into Anna's ear. "I'm so very proud of you!"

The music continued to play on, oblivious. Did the world care that Anna could move her feet again? That she could request and be granted something so simple of her nerves as tapping her toes to the beat of the music? That today was the first day in eleven long months that she could connect her brain with the stranded islands of her toes?

Anna could barely sit still any longer, and simply listen to the music. Not when the truest symphony had returned to the golden web of her nerves. Not when the hive had suddenly become conscious again. Not while toffee and gossamer flowed so easily through her body, suffusing her muscles and sinews with all sorts of sleek candy fishes!

She sat in her wheelchair and amused herself by first tapping one toe, then the other, and then both simultaneously. Elsa's face was rapt with attention, still spilling out her own immense joy as she watched Anna's feet, and not the string quartet.

Oh, god, her wonderful beautiful feet!

They were no longer lost and drifting like wreckage on the endless sea. They had been returned to her. She and her feet, they had been reunited. If she weren't in the middle of a crowd, Anna would have cried aloud for the glory of it.

Elsa was swift in wheeling Anna back to their private apartment the moment the concert was over; they barely made a proper exit in bidding all others farewell. Once inside, Elsa closed the door behind her, clapped her hands together and begged, "Show me again, honey, again!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Anna grinned and tapped her toes yet again.

Elsa shook her head back and forth, speechless.

But Anna now had words. "Oh, Elsa, I can't even tell you how wonderful this feels! To think that I haven't moved my toes in nearly eleven months, only to have them resurface again. I can't thank you enough. What you've done for me… is miraculous."

Elsa shook her head as she began to wheel Anna into her bedchamber to undress for the evening. "You did the hard work, Anna. All I did was show you the way."

"Please don't negate your contribution, Elsa," Anna pleaded as Elsa finished pushing her into her bedchamber. "From the moment you came into my life you've been my champion and my supporter. Don't you dare suppose that any other person could have done likewise. There has been no one else like you in the history of the world. Understand this, Elsa. No one has given me a greater gift in my entire life."

Anna's joy was still bubbling inside her, bright and furious like Champagne. She wanted it to _infect_ Elsa. She wanted Elsa to celebrate right along with her.

But that strange distance was somehow even more apparent than ever! Elsa smiled for her, but then began to unpin Anna's hair. She combed it before easing off Anna's shoes and rolling down her stockings, assisting Anna in disrobing just as she did every night.

There was something strange, dare Anna call it _fey,_ about Elsa this evening. Her edges, which Anna had come to recognize over the months of their cooperation together, were sharp tonight indeed. Anna was taken aback by it, for she couldn't understand it at all.

No attempt at conversation seemed able to penetrate Elsa's wall. As Anna nattered on, Elsa simply helped Anna out of her gown and into her nightdress, for they had already decided that, with the concert going so late, there wouldn't be any massage this evening.

Anna could barely settle between her sheets; she felt young and childlike and confused, as if she were experiencing the world all fresh and brand new. She could feel the sheets against her toes even as she regarded Elsa's remote face; she gave her toes yet another exploratory wiggle, and saw the movement under the blanket.

But Elsa simply sat down at her habitual place near Anna's bed and reached for the oil so she could rub Anna's wrists and hands.

Anna didn't want a servant tonight. She wanted a friend. A companion.

 _No, what I really want is a true lover._

 _But that, I cannot have._

Gently shoving those more dire thoughts away, Anna focused instead on the qualities of friendship and companionship. My god, how long had it been since she had someone she could share her secrets with? Someone to laugh with her when the sun shone, and whisper with her in the middle of the night? When was the last time she truly had experienced this time of kindred friendship and intimacy?

Hans had never provided the exact kind of companionship and kinship she had craved. Books and stories spoke of relationships such as these, were they all liars, or was she yet to be graced with the greatest love story of all?

Could there even be anyone in her life now, with she so old, and her husband so dead, and her toes so babylike and new? What could that love even look like, when all she wanted was this deep sense of intimacy and companionship?

All she wanted was what she had right now. In this very moment, with Elsa sitting before her. This was the connection she had always desired, and had been lacking. But even this was incomplete, and Anna wanted to know why.

Anna had taken some time to uncover her fears. Maybe she could finally burn them on the altar of her spirit, and emerge brand new. It would be better to open herself up to potential heartache, if only she could only experience this intimacy and joy!

But how could she open herself to any man again, if she could not even open herself to this woman who sat before her?

Elsa took her hand and began to massage it. She continued to glow with a pearly unearthly fire; radiance coming from her like any midwinter gloaming.

Elsa was right here, but she was somehow still so very far!

Where was the true Elsa? Had she taken off her inner gloves, as she had promised?

For the true Anna was here. She was slowly uncovering her deepest, highest self; she was revealing the greatest Anna that had only been slumbering inside this trembling broken locus of flesh, waiting for moments of awakening.

Her awakening had come, after nights of intense and soul-searing pain.

But even that ancient pain had been a gift in disguise, for it had brought her this woman. This woman, who had become the greatest gift of all, handed to her by the very universe itself.

Elsa Wolff.

Elsa Wolff, who even now sat beside her bed, patiently rubbing her hands with scented oil. Elsa Wolff, somehow a survivor of the same dread injuries that had befallen Anna. Elsa Wolff, somehow acquainted with her dear son, Leif, and the cause of his evacuation home to Norway. This Elsa Wolff had long ago listened to the song of mountain birds and recognized in their piping voices the vibration of the divine.

She had come to know Elsa somewhat since her nurse began her service earlier this August. But even she could not completely fathom or comprehend the complex expression on Elsa's face this evening.

Feeling worn out to her bones, excitement making a rag doll of her, Anna said, "Talk to me, Elsa. There is something different about you tonight. Tell me what it is, please."

Elsa looked up from her work, and she smiled, though Anna thought the corners of that smile were thin and almost ghastly. "Well, today is my birthday, my lady. And you have just given me the most precious gift of all. You tapped your toes tonight. Repeatedly. You are amazing."

Anna stared at her in shock, the compliment sliding right off her shoulders.

"Why on earth didn't you tell me sooner?" Anna asked, a touch of exasperation in her voice. "Elsa, why?"

Elsa continued to smile, though it changed to something smaller and more wistful. She continued to rub Anna's hands. "I didn't want to make a fuss, my lady. It's just a birthday."

Anna paused, and then she deliberately pulled her hands out of Elsa's. Then it was Elsa's turn to stare at her in surprise. Her hands, they looked empty, and desolate.

"That's not good enough, Elsa," Anna said, her voice quiet and fierce. "You tell me why."

Surprise and fright and even a trace of anger were now upon Elsa's gentle features. Anna didn't enjoy seeing those emotions appear on her face, but neither did she appreciate being kept in the dark.

Anna had thought they were forging a connection greater than lady and servant. Anna thought they had shared experiences that mattered. Why would Elsa keep something so vital from her?

Elsa had just called her 'my lady' yet again. Maybe she didn't really want to transcend this barrier. Maybe this was all she wanted or desired, this relationship between lady and servant. Perhaps they were destined to bob along the shallows alone, and never again experience the pain and transcendence of those deep and silent places.

Anna discovered that she was angrier than she expected.

"It's just a habit, my lady," Elsa was saying. "I haven't ever made a big deal of my birthday. Certainly the older I get, the less it seems to matter."

Anna leaned slightly forward, spearing Elsa with her attention. "It matters, Elsa, and I'll tell you why. A birthday is a chance to celebrate the fact that we were born. In the right place, at the right time. It's not just some day; it's a celebration of everything that makes you who you are. It's a chance for those who love you to recognize and cherish your presence in their lives. That's what a birthday really is."

"Then why have you never asked?" Elsa asked, leaning back to distance herself from Anna, a stark measure of hurt in her face and in her voice. Anna detected a flame of anger in her words as well. "Not once have you ever asked when my birthday is. Of course I know yours is in January, I learned it ages ago from Lady Lily. It's like… it's as if you don't really care about me, and my life. Maybe I'm just a nurse to you, after… after all we've been through."

Those words slapped Anna in the face, and she leaned back again, surprised and ashamed. "Yes, I'll take that chastening," she slowly said a moment later. "No, I never asked. Truth be told, I've been remarkably self-absorbed for months now. Focusing only on myself. My hurt. My recovery. But that can change. I promise, Elsa. I can change, and I will change, for you. Please. Believe me. I'm sorry."

Elsa's face flickered between hurt and surprise, but the overwhelming emotion Anna read there was still one of grief and suffering.

Elsa's admission finally struck Anna fully in her heart.

Today was Elsa's birthday. And nothing about it had been a celebration of all things gloriously _Elsa._ No, it had been all about Anna instead, just like every day before it.

Anna would get down on her knees (if her knees worked) in thanksgiving to any god or deity for Elsa's presence in her life. How she could have celebrated this woman, if she had only thought farther than her own life!

Shame threatened to swamp her and carry her out to sea. For Anna suddenly realized she had no idea how old Elsa truly was.

"Will you accept my apology, Elsa?" Anna asked, reaching out to clasp Elsa's hands. "I'm sorry I never asked about your birthday. But now that the topic has arisen, may I be so clumsily bold as to ask how old you are?"

"I am fifty-two today."

Anna smiled at her and briefly squeezed Elsa's hands. "I thought we were further apart in age than that. You look young for your years, Elsa."

"Thank you, my lady."

"May I wish you a happy birthday, then, sweetheart?" Anna asked. She imbued her voice with softness, with endearments, to cover her shame.

"Yes, you may."

"Happy birthday, my dearest girl. May this upcoming year be your happiest yet." Anna punctuated her sentiment by gently taking Elsa's face in hers, and kissing each of her cheeks.

And in those kisses she felt a slight flutter, ghosting along Elsa's skin.

What was it? Was it… disappointment?

She released Elsa's face and withdrew. One glance was all it took.

Elsa's hurt could not be erased so easily with mere kisses and words. Anna certainly recognized the expression on Elsa's face; she had sported it herself many times when Hans had hurt her.

"My lady, forgive me," Elsa began to say before pausing.

"You need no forgiveness. Speak."

"Would you excuse me for the night?"

"Yes. As you wish."

Elsa got up rather abruptly and clumsily; the wake of her sorrow was a loathsome tide against Anna's body. She took quick strides to Anna's bedroom door. When Anna finally realized what was happening, she called out, "Elsa, wait!"

Elsa paused, her breath heaving. She turned back, her face devastated. "I'm so sorry. Please, my apology is yours, to accept if you will," Anna said in a rush.

"Oh, I accept it," Elsa murmured. "There is no gift that I would dare refuse from you or anyone. Not anymore. Good night."

Then Elsa closed the door behind her, leaving Anna mired in unhappiness and self-recrimination. What a very great fool she had been!

It took her a very long time to fall asleep that night. She drifted towards sleep with the bitter taste of regret and embarrassment on her tongue, despite the triumph she had experienced earlier in the day when she had flexed her toes for the first time.

She couldn't relish her victory, for she thought only of Elsa, and how she had inadvertently hurt her.

She had desired a friend and companion, yet she seemed to constantly place Elsa in precisely the opposite roles. Anna had now learned her lesson, but how she wished she had learned it any other way. The memory of Elsa's pain haunted her, making her sleep restless, as she woke again and again with her heart bleating in remorse and humiliation.

Finally Anna slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The moment she woke the following morning, Elsa was on her mind. A headache needled her temples and her whole body felt thick and wretched from lack of proper rest. Anna gently stretched before absently rubbing her temples, as she instantly began recalling the conversation of the night before.

 _(maybe I'm just a nurse to you after all!)_

Anna found she was slightly nervous about seeing Elsa this morning. She vowed to be kind and attentive, and even thought of buying gifts for her therapist (birthday gifts or reconciliation gifts, it would be the same), but then she halted her thoughts with some horror. Hans had behaved similarly towards her when he had hurt her feelings, and tried to buy back his good graces with attention and gifts.

There must be a better way to show Elsa that she cared for her. That she meant what she had promised the night before, her promise to change.

Anna's first heartfelt prayer was that Elsa would allow her to prove her intention to change. Though she wouldn't blame Elsa if her nurse decided to stay aloof and withdrawn.

Yet the first opportunity for Anna to prove herself came quickly. When Elsa came into her room, Anna could tell that she was still tired, and perhaps had not slept well, either. Elsa also looked rather guarded, and unsure of her reception in Anna's chamber. "Good morning, Elsa," Anna said from her bed. "How did you sleep?"

"Poorly, I must admit," Elsa said as she sat down on the chair by Anna's bed. "And you? How are you this morning?"

"I woke with a little headache, I'll admit. And my legs seem to be extra tingly this morning."

"Can you still move your toes?"

Anna smiled and moved her toes, there under the blankets. Elsa smiled as well, a nearly true smile. "I can't yet use my knees very well; they aren't so obedient. But it will come. I know it." Anna took a deep breath. "I'm going to be blunt and just say something. I never want to hurt you again the way I hurt you last night. If you need space and time to process things, I will give it to you. You are important to me, Elsa. I greatly appreciate you. I want to make up with you."

"Would you give me a quiet day, then, Anna?" Elsa asked. "We mustn't halt your rehabilitation, but I could use some quiet time to think things over. We've been very busy, withal."

"Yes, I can give that to you. I want to give you whatever you need."

"Thank you, my lady."

My lady. Elsa kept using 'my lady'.

The day was torturous for Anna Arendelle. So many times she opened her mouth to just say something, a little inane comment, something, anything, and clapped her mouth shut again. In their morning rehabilitation in the pool, Elsa still gave her whispered commands, and Anna obeyed them, but the session was starkly devoid of all the old comments and chatter Anna used to make.

In this day of forced quietude, Anna realized something. Their prior conversation had been quite unequal. Elsa was very skilled at asking questions, which Anna would answer, and then some. Sometimes, even while Elsa was speaking, Anna was already thinking of what she could say next, to provide some sparkling witticism or anecdote. She often wanted to impress Elsa, or make her smile or laugh. But at what cost? Their conversation, just like their respective stations, was imbalanced. Elsa was a great listener. Anna… not so much.

They took their lunch in the great hall, and Anna could scarcely take part in the table conversation with her peers. She kept glancing over at the far table where Elsa sat, focused on her meal, disengaged from the fellow servants. She appeared so distant, so forlorn.

After lunch, Elsa wheeled Anna back to their chambers. The distance between them was intolerable! Anna would do anything to heal this wound, and bridge this gap, but she knew the only way she could do so was to prove she could think of Elsa first, and give Elsa what she needed. No matter how difficult it was.

"I've been invited to the library," Anna said quietly, "for some conversation and embroidery. Why don't you have the apartment to yourself for a few hours, to do as you will?" She glanced up at the clock; it was just past 1 pm. "I'll come back at half four, in time for tea. What do you think?"

"That's very considerate of you, my lady," Elsa answered. "I will say yes."

"Then that's settled." Anna wheeled herself over to the wall, where she pulled the bell for Kate. "Enjoy your afternoon, my dear."

"Thank you."

The hours in the library passed slowly. The company was interesting, and the conversation occasionally intriguing, and the embroidery just taxing enough to demand her attention, but her mind was often upon Elsa and what might be going through Elsa's mind.

In a quiet moment in the library, an idea came to her. She fleshed it out, and examined it, and finally acted on it. She called the Director over to her and made her requests, which he promised to fulfill immediately. He came back just shy of four o'clock, stating that everything had been arranged as she had requested.

It was half four exactly when Kate wheeled Anna back to her apartment. Anna bade her be quiet, for she knew Elsa might be meditating, or napping, or otherwise engaged, and she didn't want to disturb her.

As Anna suspected, when she entered the apartment she noticed Elsa asleep on the couch. She whispered for Kate to hold back the tea until called for; she would let Elsa sleep for a while yet.

After Kate had left, Anna wheeled herself closer to the couch. Elsa had thrown a light blanket over her legs, and her hair spilled in a messy braid over her pillow. Her notebook was open on the table before her; Anna squashed a desire to peek at whatever Elsa had been working on. She just looked at Elsa instead, realizing that she had never actually seen Elsa asleep before. She appeared so young and vulnerable, the small assortment of wrinkles near her eyes and mouth erased with the benison of sleep. What a beautiful woman she was, and what a conundrum as well!

Not sure when such a moment would come again, Anna simply sat there and watched Elsa sleep, turning thoughts and ideas over and again in her mind. She mentally rehearsed what she could say to Elsa, how she could try to finally erase the obstructions of power and class that yet stood between them.

Because in this day of silent confusion and inner torment, Anna knew she wanted those walls dismantled. She would tear down every wall imaginable, if it meant that she could have a closer relationship with Elsa Wolff. No matter the eventual pain, no matter the eventual loss.

The now mattered more.

No one else in Anna's life had the power to create such a beautiful, meaningful _now_ than Elsa Wolff.

Elsa slept on, her eyes occasionally fluttering, her breathing deep and even.

Not wanting to be caught staring should Elsa suddenly wake, Anna eventually wheeled herself over to the writing desk. Johan was due a letter.

It was almost an hour later when Elsa began to stir. Her movements were slow and abundant; she sighed a bit and started to stretch her limbs, and at once she sat bolt upright, her eyes open and searching for Anna.

"Calm yourself," Anna chuckled, unable to mask the levity in her voice at seeing the comical measure of surprise on Elsa's face. "I'm here, you're here, everything's all right."

Elsa blinked her eyes and then ran her hands over her hair, presumably to measure its level of unruliness. "I wanted a nap, but I didn't intent to sleep so long," Elsa said before her jaw cracked open in a yawn. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and then awkwardly smiled at Anna.

Anna hadn't known how desperate she had been to see Elsa smile until the sight of it caused her whole body to ease. The tension that had existed between them since the night before began to melt away, though an obdurate stone of worry yet remained in Anna's breast.

Anna laughed again, masking that deep worry, and said, "You obviously needed it."

To her delight, Elsa laughed with her. "It appears I did. Heavens, is my hair as awful as I think it is?"

Playful banter! Oh, how glorious!

Anna looked at the beautiful disaster that was Elsa's dishevelled braid and said, "I think the polite response is no. However…" and she chuckled a bit nervously before continuing, "it's rather beautifully awful. You could start a new trend."

"You are so kind, but a little full of it as well," Elsa said as she began untangling her legs from the blanket.

"Full of it?" Anna asked in genuine curiosity. She had never heard such an expression before. "What does that mean?"

To her surprise, her question caused Elsa to stop in her tracks, and she regarded Anna with a guarded expression that slowly morphed into soft embarrassment. "It means, Anna, that you're not telling the truth. It also means that I'm still somewhat groggy from my nap. I don't exactly like using such slang in front of you."

"I rather like it when you can just be yourself," Anna replied. "I seem to recall you advising me to be the same, once. This is your home. You can be you."

Elsa's answering smile was even more beautiful yet. She stood up from the couch, swaying slightly, her hand absently rubbing her back. "Now that I'm up, and about to make myself presentable again, is there anything I can get you?"

"A glass of water?"

"Done."

Elsa disappeared into her chamber. She returned less than ten minutes later, her clothes smoothed out and her hair replaited into a glossy cable of dawn-kissed snow that hung over her heart. She went to the sideboard and poured them both glasses of water. She delivered Anna's to the writing table and then sat down again on the couch with a soft oomph. "Writing a letter?" Elsa asked, inviting conversation.

"To Johan. He worries if I don't write every few days."

"Have you mentioned your new success, that you can now move your toes?"

Anna turned her body so she could look at Elsa, and took a breath. Then she said, "No. I haven't told him. And I don't plan to, either. I don't want the weight of his expectations on me, not yet. I would rather keep him in the dark, at least through my letters, and surprise him with my eventual progress when I see him in person again."

"Christmas is just over a month away," Elsa mused. "A lot can happen in that time."

"You do not judge me for my lies?" Anna quietly asked, pressing the point that mattered more.

Elsa set down her glass of water and turned to face Anna as well. "No, I do not and dare not judge, Anna. A person may lie for many reasons, not the least being to spare someone's feelings. While I do believe that a time comes for all truth telling, I also believe that silence is a gift, used correctly and sparingly. Perhaps I'm wrong for thinking this way. But I do not think it is wrong for you to consider your son's needs along with your own. You love him. And you want to spare him pain." She sighed. "Some of the greatest suffering we endure is due to failed expectations."

Anna felt her heart beating thick and hard in her breast. "I do not judge you, either, Elsa. I'm glad you've shared some stories with me, such as your fall in India, and your connection to my own dear Leif. Just recently I reminded you that I do not want to force any confidence. What you choose to share with me is your affair, and I do not judge you for keeping your stories close to you. Nor for needing silence, such as we experienced today."

Elsa's eyes were wide, and soft. "I appreciate today's gift. More than you may know."

A moment later, Anna continued. "I think I'm starting to understand something about you, Elsa. You are a giver. You are a listener. But if there is any gift of insight I could share with you, it would be this; you are imbalanced. Go ahead and give. Give with no thought of recompense or reward. But, in turn, take what the universe gives you, through those who share your life. Just as you accepted the gift of ginger when you needed it most."

Elsa's eyes were raptly attuned to Anna's; she seemed hooked on Anna's words.

"And listen. Listen while knowing the absolute power of your own speech, the invaluable quality of your words. You have a voice, my dear. Your words matter. In the right time, in the right medium, words have power to change the world. I cherish so many of the things you've said to me; your words have helped to shape my own inner world. Your voice has power you seem to be unaware of. Your thoughts, clothed by words, matter.

"Perhaps you need space and time to speak. I don't always give that to you. So that is my first of three birthday gifts I wish to offer you, Elsa Wolff. A promise to give you the gift of space, and silence, in order that you may speak."

With that said, Anna stopped talking. She looked at Elsa, proving her words with this immediate small gift of silence.

Elsa licked her lips. Their eyes were locked on each other's.

A while later, Elsa said. "I accept."

"Excellent. I have two other gifts to give you. But first, shall we ring for the tea? Else we shall miss it entirely."

"Tea would be lovely."

At Anna's silent wave of the hand, Elsa rose to ring the bell. A short time later, they heard the keys in the lock, and Kate entered with the tray of tea. "Do you wish to have dinner in your chambers, or join us in the hall, m'lady?" Kate asked as she laid out the tea.

Anna said nothing, while she looked sharply at Elsa.

Elsa cleared her throat and asked, "Shall we stay in tonight, my lady?"

Anna nodded.

"Very good," Kate replied. She glanced up at the clock on the mantle. "I'll arrange to bring it at half seven, if that suits you."

"It suits us well," Elsa said when Anna did not speak. "Thank you, Kate."

Kate bobbed her head and left, closing the door behind her. "Where would you like your tea, Anna?" Elsa asked.

"On the couch?" Anna suggested.

Elsa came to help wheel her over to the couch, and then lifted her from the chair and onto the softer cushions. When Anna shivered, Elsa built up the nearly dormant fire in the fireplace; soon their sitting room was bathed in warm red and orange light. Elsa poured them the tea, and then sat on the same couch opposite her.

They sipped in silence for a time. Then Elsa unexpectedly asked, "So, if that was birthday gift number one, what is gift number two?"

"I spoke earlier about imbalance. I am guilty of it as well. There exists between us a cultural imbalance of power. I am a Dowager Baroness of Norway, and you are my therapist. Society would dictate that there remain a certain distance between us, a distance whose only purpose is to bolster my position while reducing yours. I have been quietly fighting this ridiculous imbalance my entire married life. I can only hope it will not prevail forever."

"Indeed, it will not," Elsa quietly said. When Anna lifted an eyebrow, Elsa said, "Continue. I'm intrigued."

"My second birthday gift to you, Elsa, is a chance to transcend that imbalance. We are alone together, here. We have started to create a safe haven. A place where you have started to take off your inner gloves. And I… I am starting to come down from my high horse." Anna grinned at the metaphor. "I offer you, Elsa Wolff, a sincere desire for us to be equals. To be companions. Even friends. Here, in this place, in privacy, what I would like to give you is my own willingness for us to be two people who simply enjoy each other's company. No lady. No nurse. Just Anna. And Elsa."

The childlike astonishment on Elsa's face warmed Anna's heart.

"The choice is yours, my dear," Anna continued. "But know this. If you would rather keep to your silence and your station, if this is somehow a gift that is not suitable for you, please understand that I will not judge you for that, either."

More silence. Anna's breath fluttered near her heart as she awaited Elsa's response. God, what if Elsa denied her?

Finally, Elsa swallowed. "I will accept this gift as well, and gladly." Then she smiled, and sank back somewhat into the cushions, her whole posture relaxing just a little. "Indeed, I have hoped for a gift such as this, my lady."

"My name is Anna. Remember?"

"I could never forget it. Thank you, Anna."

"You are most welcome. Are you ready for gift number three?"

"You do not need to shower me so."

"But I want to. And, if you're to be my friend, you're going to let me do what I want."

To her surprise, Elsa laughed out loud. "So that's what friendship is?"

"One aspect, yes. Another aspect has to do with the willingness to share things. Like chocolate."

Elsa chuckled again and then sipped her tea. Anna sipped her own tea as well. She could see Elsa's eyes sparkling, and finally Elsa said, "Curiosity killed the cat. Okay, Anna. What's gift number three?"

"A ride."

"A ride," Elsa repeated, some confusion in her voice.

"Let me clarify. On a horse."

Elsa's whole body stilled, and she stared at Anna in naked surprise. "What?" she asked.

"There are farms on the edge of Scarborough, and some of them rent out their horses for riding. I have arranged for you to take a horse and spend a day outdoors. The weather is supposed to be quite nice tomorrow and the next few days; you may go whichever day you choose. Because I know you, you may assist me in the morning, but then I release you from all other service until the very end of the day."

"You… arranged a ride for me?"

"Yes. I know you used to ride on the weekends back at Iskall Slott. We've been away from home for a month already, and you must be missing it. So go ride a horse, and remember your family, your prairie home, and celebrate the fact that you are here, you are right here with me. This is my final birthday gift to you, Elsa. It would please me very much to know that you are still taking part in activities that mean so much to you."

"Three is a most magical number," Elsa breathed. "My heart, I will refuse nothing, not from you, not from my God. I will gladly, and gratefully, accept all your gifts.

"And thank you."

…

Elsa woke the following morning with distant and familiar pain in her back and a smile on her lips. She managed to quiet herself in the pre-dawn darkness, there upon a cushion in her bedchamber, as she conducted a meditation somewhat shorter than those she had undertaken at the monastery, but valued nonetheless.

At the close of the half hour, Elsa sent a prayer to the universe that forever dwelled within her own depleted body, before spinning that prayer outwards in a perfect connection with the universe without. Her prayer was more pleading than was her habit, for with her closing breaths she begged the universe for clarity of thought and bravery of spirit this day.

Elsa Wolff had much to think about; her day of contemplation the day before had been hijacked somewhat with the surprise of her lady's promises. Elsa was still unwrapping and contemplating the gifts Anna had given her, and what they might truly mean for the two of them. Yet she didn't want her day on horseback to be completely ruined by hopeless meandering thoughts, so she prayed as well for the strength to hold on to the present moment, whatever it brought her.

She thought of her old Master as she finished her meditation, and then she thought of the young man who had taken over this role, the young man she had known in India. Would he have given her any other insight for the situation she now found herself in?

She smiled, for the first thought that came to her mind was spoken in his mild voice. _"Elsa, you already know everything you need to know."_

It was pleasant to think of him, so she thought of him for a while before rising from her cushion and stretching. Elsa finally rose and dressed herself in the riding trousers she nearly hadn't brought with her to Scarborough. Her slightly younger self had hoped for this opportunity! Then she entered the sitting room, to notice that Kate had already been here to refresh the fire; it was just starting to catch once more. The jugs of water had been refilled, but the curtains remained shut. Elsa glanced at the clock on the mantle; it was already near 8 am. If they had been in Iskall Slott, Anna would be about ready to eat breakfast. Their mornings had certainly relaxed since coming to the resort. And thank god for that!

Elsa strode over to the windows and opened them, there to admire a sky that sparkled with motes of ice that were flashing and fleeting in the dawn light. Soon they would burn off entirely, but for now those icy bits of beauty seemed content to flash and sparkle with no thought of their eventual demise.

Only then did Elsa slowly open Anna's door a crack, peeking into the darkened chamber. Anna seemed only to be rousing just now; her lady was stretching in her bed. Elsa opened the door a little wider and stared with amazement and wonder at how Anna's legs shifted down in the sheets, and how her toes curled.

Yes, they were Anna's legs, but the effort to bring them to life had been Elsa's!

"Good morning, Elsa," Anna said, covering a yawn.

"Good morning, m'lady," Elsa said as she came fully into the room. She couldn't help herself; she reached over to touch and grip Anna's toes. She felt Anna wiggle them in her grip. "I see they are working this morning."

"Indeed they are. I've been spending the last few minutes just luxuriating in them. I won't easily forget how it felt to have those toes adrift and lost." Anna finished stretching and used the triangle bar to lift herself into a seated position. Then she reached over and turned on the light.

Anna took one look at Elsa's riding attire and something happened to her face. For just a moment, Elsa saw something very naked and very hungry appear on Anna's face; the brief power of it caused Elsa's mouth to go dry.

No one had looked at Elsa like that in a very long time. Elsa had never expected to see this particular glance upon Anna's face; she could feel her cheeks turning rosy as her heart began to pound.

As beautiful and unexpected the look of frank appreciation and desire upon Anna's face had been, her lady quickly schooled her features into more seemly admiration. Anna's eyes roved over Elsa's riding attire as she licked her lips before saying, "That's a really amazing look for you, Elsa. Quite masculine and… rousing. So you've decided to go today instead of waiting for another?"

"Carpe diem, Anna. That means…"

"Seize the day," Anna replied before Elsa had to explain the Latin. "You forget my Latin lessons, my dear girl. Fear not. You're already forgiven." Elsa grinned at her and then moved to the windows. She opened them, letting in those soft, gauzy and dying sparkles of icelight. "Can we have a short stretching session before you go? I woke up feeling a bit crooked," Anna continued.

"Of course we can. Thank you for asking."

First Elsa took Anna into the bathing chamber so she could use the facilities and wash her face and hands. Then they adjourned to the sitting room where they both took their familiar positions on the floor. Elsa guided Anna through some simple stretching exercises; many of which Elsa had learned while taking her yoga instructor's course so long ago in India, when she had been an innocent and ambitious lass of just past 20.

Her yoga had only gotten stronger after she had been thrust into the past, and reconnected with the more ancient practices that had steadily infused the East for thousands of years.

Anna was still panting and red-faced when she was finished; sweat beading her brow and her eyes shining with gladness. "My knees are so close, Elsa," she said as they both laid in corpse pose upon the ground. "I can almost move them. I can even feel the nerves twitching inside them. They are like warriors at a gate. Some day that gate will fall, and the warriors will come pouring in."

"They are guests at a feast," Elsa suggested. "Where all the best goodies in the world have been prepared, and they are simply starving for it."

Anna laughed aloud. "Oh, I do love a good metaphor. I only hope the feast won't spoil before the guests can come in and wolf it all down." She made a moue. "Goodness, did I just inadvertently talk about gangrene?"

Elsa chuckled with her; how she appreciated her lady's wit! "Some things cannot be spoiled, certainly not by time alone. Come now, my dear. Let's get you washed and some food into you."

Anna was washed and dressed and breakfasting with Elsa just an hour later. When Kate came to deliver their meal, Elsa asked that the kitchen prepare a packet for her to take as her lunch. Simple fare, some sandwiches, a flask of water, some cheese and an apple, if such were to be had. Kate promised to see to it.

"Do you plan on being out the whole day, then?" Anna asked. "I'm only curious. My poor backside could never handle more than several hours on a horse, especially if I hadn't been astride for some time."

"I'm anticipating the same scenario," Elsa admitted, "but I shall get off and walk betimes, I think. While I have no great destination in mind, I know there are some lovely views of the sea to the north, and wild patch of land to the interior. I'll stay out until just after lunch, I think. At the very least, I'll be home before nightfall; easy enough when dusk occurs so early this time of year." She tilted her head and asked, "Have you made plans for the day?"

"Some," Anna admitted. "This morning I'm going to visit the Dowager Countess of Hillgarrow; she's been feeling poorly. I'll take a book of poetry and see if I can't cheer her."

"You could cheer the thunderclouds, I bet," Elsa replied.

Anna smiled at her. "You're a dear girl. Lunch in the hall, and then either some embroidery in the library, or some time here in the apartment. I might even nap, write some letters, who knows?"

"Sounds wonderful." Elsa wiped her mouth with her napkin and looked at the clock.

"I can see how eager you are," Anna chuckled. "Off you go, Elsa. Stay warm, and for god's sake don't you dare have an accident. Enjoy your day."

Elsa got up from the table, quickly kissed Anna's cheeks, and then gathered her things where she had piled them by the door. She pulled on her heavy winter coat, wrestled her feet into her boots, wrapped herself in a shawl and finally pulled a hat over her white locks. Then she waved once more at Anna, still seated at the table with her tea in her hand. Anna waved back, and even blew Elsa a kiss.

As Elsa closed the door behind her, she could feel that kiss caught in the palm of her gloved hand.

So she brought her palm to her lips, and pressed that kiss there as well.

…

Elsa's first stop was the kitchen, where she gathered the generous packet that had been prepared for her. Out of the resort, she started to walk to the stables when the resort chauffeur drove up beside her and offered her a lift. Elsa gratefully accepted. Not that the stable was far, but it was always nice to be in a car.

As she had predicted, the light frost on the ground had already burned away, leaving a bright and uncharacteristically sunny sky above her. As she was dropped off at the stable, Elsa breathed deeply of these beloved scents; dirt and manure and leather and horseflesh.

True to her meditative desire of the morning, Elsa stayed intensely aware of the present moment as she strode into the stable to talk to the head groom. Together they chose a sedate, dapple-grey mare that was trained in the Western style, and could be ridden on a Western saddle. Elsa gladly assisted the groom in making the last adjustments before she swung into the saddle. He gave her some basic directions of places she might want to visit, and warned her to keep a sharp eye on the horizon; storms were liable to come in off the sea with little notice. Elsa had no intention of being caught in any sort of storm this side of November, and vowed to stay watchful as well.

It was hard to even imagine the existence of any storm on a day such as this. Elsa rode away from the stable, amazed at how the mare's breath made little plumes of steam in the air; she puffed out her own, trying to make a cloudy symphony. She settled easily and with great fondness into the saddle, nudging away any memory that came tiptoeing to the forefront of her consciousness with a small meditative, "Thank you, memories, but not now."

For why remember old things, when she could create new? Elsa and the mare started with a fast walk, heading up along the coast on a little used road. Once they had truly left Scarborough behind, she turned around to look at the castle on the inlet, and the grey-blue sea with its frothing surf that growled against the shores and beaches. The air that slapped her skin was cool, but still refreshing withal. Elsa was grateful for her thick coat, and for her hat and shawl.

Then they turned their backs on Scarborough and headed up the coast. Once outside the town proper, Elsa nudged the mare into a comfortable, rolling canter. Her eyes craved the sight of the horizon, especially that horizon inland, with the last golden-brown leaves still clinging to the branches of trees, all stark against this washed-blue sky. It reminded her, however distantly, of Canada, and her long-lost home.

As the time continued to pass, she knew the answer to her morning meditation was right here. There was clarity everywhere she looked today, and Elsa gladly sunk herself into the essential vibration of Mother Nature. There were no lies here, no pretences, no hurts or worries or duties or fears. There was only the natural and soaring presence of simple and beautiful things; the gulls that screeched with the roll of the surf, and the sight of flowering weeds by the side of the road, and the bushy tail of the fox that she saw streaking across the road.

An hour or two later, Elsa's backside had become sore enough that she decided to dismount for a while. She held the reins in her hand and walked out her kinks as she and the horse moved through the inland woods. The woods were clear and wide, rustling with the softness of millions of fallen leaves as they kept to the roads. It was rare to see another human, and rarer yet to see another car; Elsa sent up a brief thought of thanks for being able to witness this purer time.

Her stomach began to rumble and Elsa started to look for a likely place to tie up the horse so she could have her bite of lunch. There was a creek nearby, bubbling quite beautifully, and soon Elsa spied a most auspicious fallen log that would support her aching bones. There was even a patch of late clover nearby, still somewhat green, for the mare to munch on.

Elsa tied up the horse and settled herself on the log. She took her lunch and bit into the first sandwich that had been prepared for her. The taste exploded in her mouth; tangy horseradish and roast beef and fresh cheese. God, if she had known how delicious the food of the past was, she would have volunteered for the trip!

She grinned as she sipped some water. Maybe not volunteered.

But now that she had invited the thoughts in, more came clambering at her door. Thinking of Anna's knees, and guests that wanted only food, Elsa finally opened the door to her thoughts and memories and complex contemplations, even as she continued to savour and enjoy her meal.

The first thing she looked at was the slim gold band she wore on the ring finger of her right hand. She could not look at it without her heart wrenching in sorrow, still fresh and agonizing after only two and a half years.

Cati had placed it there, upon Elsa's hand, one day in the spring of 1919.

Elsa forced her thoughts in another direction; she could not bear to think of those other teal eyes, that other red-lipped smile among the backdrop of distant mountains.

But now that the door had been opened, other thoughts came.

She thought of her aged Master, whom she had visited in London not so long ago. He had invited much conversation, and stirred up memories both dread and benign, and, finally, he said words that haunted her.

 _You will recognize moments that come, when you must share your secrets. I know this, Elsa, that you love the lady you serve. And, by loving her, you must burden her with your secrets. You must assault her with your truth. This is kindness as well, to share the cesspools of the spirit along with the peaceable seas._

 _For mountains cannot exist without valleys._

Elsa sighed as she finished the last sandwich, and took several gulps of water. She had tried to fool herself for far too long, tried to protect herself by living her role instead of living her life.

Though, to be fair, this last month in Scarborough had been difficult. Elsa had come in with all sorts of intentions to shed her gloves, and share her stories, and she had done so. She had told Anna about her fall in the mountains. She had even shared her own connection to that wonderful young man, Leif.

But then Anna had never seemed so interested in knowing much more. Anna was so incredibly focused on herself and her recovery. Elsa tried not to judge her, tried to view Anna as someone who was experiencing the greatest hardship that a life could deal, but still she was hurt by these thoughtless omissions.

The weeks had passed, they had only each other for their companions, yet time and again Anna had somehow placed Elsa in the role of servant. Never in public, no, for Anna was tireless in trying to get Elsa the same seats, the same places as she. But in private, in conversation, this is where Anna had failed.

And Elsa had failed as well. She could have been vulnerable earlier, and shared how confused she was, how desperately she wanted to understand Anna yet understand her own position in Anna's life. She had withheld her words, and the situation had worsened as a result. The truth could have served them both, had Elsa the courage enough to speak it!

Those days leading up to her birthday, when Anna had finally moved her limbs, Elsa had been poised to share everything with her lady, but had felt shut out of Anna's confidences. Why bother sharing more with someone who seemed not to value these confidences?

Was this Anna's true nature, or just a result of her station and upbringing, and the accident that had made a ruin of her former life? Elsa had wanted to ask, but had felt confined by the walls and ramparts of Anna's station.

So when her own birthday had finally arrived, Elsa had finally recognized how angry she was, and how disappointed. She had finally shared the truth of her emotions, and look what had happened as a result!

Anna had given her three priceless gifts. They were all Elsa's now, to take and unwrap and treasure. It was just further evidence that the universe could take Elsa's own faults and somehow bless them, and her.

With such evidence of benevolence, dared she consider what the universe, and Anna Arendelle, could do with her secrets, should she be bold enough to uncover them?

Elsa knew she kept her secrets for a reason. Her three truths were so terrible, that they could truly rip she and Anna apart. They were so dreadful, so unimaginable, that Anna might not be able to digest them. And what then?

If Elsa were torn away from her lady, how would Anna ever walk again? Elsa believed that there was time for all good things, and her lady's rehabilitation might be the best thing of all, so who was she to spill her secrets and risk it all?

These three great lies made up the cornerstones of Elsa's current existence.

Elsa thought of Scarborough Castle on that cliff, already so pocked and ruined by the English Civil War of 1645. Not all structures prevailed. Sometimes people dreamed and laboured and built amazing things only to see them come to ruination.

But even the ruins were glorious. Even ruins _persisted._

Did she dare make her life a ruin? Or, from her truth, could a more glorious structure be created?

The phoenix came from such ruination. To that particular bird, the fire of death and destruction was a gift.

Elsa didn't know what to do. To be honest, even after nearly four months with Anna, her lady was still a bit of a mystery. She wanted to think that the truth would unite them. That, if she bared her secrets, Anna would accept them, and rejoice in them.

But she just didn't know. And this uncertainty was driving Elsa mad, and threatening the careful peace she had woven around her heart.

Elsa sighed and got up from the log. Reaching her hands up to the sky, she stretched and moved until the greatest kinks in her aching body had been eased. Clouds had been bumbling with all the careless grace of young bear cubs across the pale blue sky; the sun finally peeked out and struck Elsa in the face. In the trees nearby, birds began to sing, calling back and forth to each other with their warbling exquisite voices.

Elsa recalled that night by the gorge in India, and hearing those songbirds sing. She had been filled with such despair and fear, yet here she was! Standing on her own two feet, happily serving an amazing woman, fulfilling the measure of her creation. She had never been abandoned; she had never been given adversity great enough to break her. From the dark nights of her soul had come such amazing light!

Anna had passed through similar darkness and misery. Only to curl her toes of her own volition, for the first time in nearly a year. Elsa had not lied; that had been an incredible gift for her birthday. All her effort, all her worry and care, finally vindicated!

And although Elsa tried not to spend too much time idly imagining possible futures, she allowed herself a brief and glorious fantasy of a future Anna.

Elsa pictured Anna sitting in her wheelchair by the lights of the Christmas tree in the great hall of Iskall Slott. Her son, Johan, standing before her, hand outstretched. Anna rising from her chair to the gasping delighted elation of the crowd, their gloved hands to meet, their bodies to swirl in rhythm with the music, proving once and for all that beauty, grace and courage were not ideals lost to a forgotten era; to dance was also to live, in harmony with the most divine symphonies of all.

To dance was also to remember life without dancing. It was to remember lost partners, like husbands and sons. But to choose to dance, knowing what was lost, was the greatest celebration of life that could ever exist.

To be alive was to be capable of dance!

It had been a very long time since Elsa had danced.

So there, in the little clearing, by the bubbling stream, with only the curious horse as her witness, Elsa bowed to an invisible partner and began to move her feet, stepping lightly here and there, hands lifted in the man's traditional position.

At first it was the memory of Cati who danced with her. Not surprising, for the Irish woman whom Elsa had fallen in love with was never far from Elsa's memory. They had often danced together in this way, in the little village square that was next to the monastery. Cati's face had already begun to hollow from illness, her steps to falter, but that had not stopped her from dancing!

But then even Cati began to slip from Elsa's mind, and a closer, living, incredibly beloved face began to take her place. A spray of freckles across milky skin, red hair a firebrand, the streak of white at the temple stark within the flaming colour. Smile wrinkles, by the eyes and the mouth, and lips ready to curl in a smile or in clever repartee.

Just like that, Anna Arendelle was in Elsa's arms.

Only here, in privacy, far away from any peering curious eyes, could Elsa indulge in this fantasy. For long minutes she revelled in it, knowing it would likely never happen in real life, and sometimes daydreams were as good as it was ever going to get.

Grayer clouds began to streak across the sky, and the sun tilted towards the far horizon. Elsa allowed the imaginary music to finish playing, and she bowed to her invisible partner. She saw Anna curtsey back, showing Elsa the beautiful curve of her neck.

Elsa realized that she wanted to touch that exquisite neck, but not with her fingertips. She wanted to touch it with her lips.

A flush of heat suddenly passed through Elsa's body, and she shook her head. It wasn't right to think of Anna this way, even if such thoughts were not exactly new. A beautiful woman would always affect Elsa in this way, and Anna was one of the most beautiful women Elsa had ever encountered. Yet Elsa dared not think further, dared not fantasize about her lady. It wasn't fair to Anna, who had no idea of Elsa's true orientation; just one of the three secrets Elsa was hiding.

One way or another, they were destined to part. Yet Elsa had done her lady a disservice in thinking that she could just reconnect Anna's drifting nerves to her legs and stand back believing that it could end like that. That, once her job was done, Elsa could just walk out of Anna's life.

Elsa had taken this job knowing that she would have a profound impact on Anna's life. What she hadn't expected was how deeply Anna would impact her.

 _You have a voice. Your words matter._

Anna's two additional gifts continued to vibrate and scorch Elsa. She had never expected to experience such gifts, not in the twilight of her strange unutterable life. Indeed, all Elsa wanted now, from her universe and her god, was time enough to fully experience these gifts.

Silence.

Friendship.

And this reminder of who she was, and where she came from, courtesy of this beautiful horse.

Should she have these things, she would count herself blessed. She didn't dare ask for any more.

Even experiencing these things, the companionship and friendship of kindred spirits, would make their eventual separation absolute agony. She didn't know if she would have the strength to withstand the loss of Anna in her life.

But she would borrow trouble from the future no longer. It was enough to have the now.

Against all odds, Elsa was here, in the woods outside of Scarborough, in the year 1924.

Elsa smiled as she turned back to the mare. She collected all her things, fetched the horse from the tree, and mounted once again. She turned the mare in the direction of town, and home.

Her friend, Anna, was waiting.

…

It was still well over two hours later when Elsa rode through the gates to the stable. The sun was already starting to set; the head groom looked relieved as she came riding through the gate. Elsa begged him to rub down the mare very well, and to pamper her in gratitude for a wonderful ride. Elsa left the stable and walked towards town on wobbly knees, watching the flagrant reds and purples and pinks waltz across the sky.

And Elsa knew that she was different. She had been changed. The essential vibration of absolute nature had once again drifted into her bones, into her muscles and spine, and even into the roaring fire that made up her soul. Elsa knew she was imperfect; she needed many reminders of the eternal nature of soulstuff, of the constancy of the energy that blazed inside her.

She had needed her Master's chiding words in London.

She had needed her lady's offer of silence and friendship.

And she had needed a day on horseback, just to remember where she had truly come from.

Elsa Wolff was from small town Alberta, Canada. She was a child of the 1990s. She had roamed and explored both the outer world and her inner one. She carried so much knowledge and hope inside her, transplanted along with her during a thunderstorm in 2020.

This was one of her secrets. There were at least two others.

And Elsa finally felt that it was time to tell at least one of them. She would put her trust in this friendship, this communion she felt with Anna. All she wanted was the barest sort of signal from the universe that she was embarking on the right path, that sharing truth would not tear her from her lady.

For even truth, in the right place, in the right time, was a most perfect gift. And one that Elsa finally felt willing and able to release from her own greedy clutches, and _give_.

For that is the true nature of abundance, something that Elsa had forgotten and relearned time and again throughout her existence. That she could give freely of herself from a place of enormous abundance, for the act of giving only creates cosmic circulation, allowing even more abundance to flow.

Elsa had lied the night of her birthday concert, when she said that she gave what she never received. This day on horseback had only stripped away her hurts and anxieties and allowed the truth to emerge again.

There was nothing that she gave that she wouldn't experience in turn. In giving service to Anna, she received service from Kate and others. In giving laughter and smiles, Elsa felt them first, upon her mouth, inside her heart, suffusing her very soul with goodness and warmth.

In giving her love and devotion to her lady, Elsa felt this love and devotion flowing through her as well. She was intimately connected to a never-ending source of affection and love, the same love that seemed to fuel the universe itself. The entire cosmos with all its laws of science and physics unfurled on a single principle alone: love and connection.

Elsa saw the lights of the resort flickering ahead of her, and her stride lengthened, leaving the mistakes of the past behind, eager to embrace the truth that awaited her.

For in this day of silence and rumination, Elsa had come to discover that the last best gift of the universe itself towards its servant Elsa Wolff lay completely in the heart, mind, and body of a lady named Anna Arendelle, the Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss.

And Elsa felt ready to unwrap that gift, and accept every possible consequence of it.

...

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience while I try to work a full time job while doing some writing on the side. I greatly appreciate every PM and every review. And believe me, your patience is about to be rewarded. The next chapter is the one you've been waiting for. Hugs and kisses, Jen


	16. Chapter 16 - Aurora

**Chapter Sixteen**

 **Aurora**

So. Very. Confused.

It was after luncheon, which Anna had taken in the Great Hall. The morning had passed quickly in the company of the Dowager Countess of Hillgarrow; the woman was near fifteen years Anna's senior, and had such incredible stories to tell! Lunch had also been necessarily filled with idle pursuits and conversation. Anna had been hard pressed to pay complete attention to her peers, as her mind often drifted to thoughts of Elsa and what she might be thinking or experiencing this day.

After luncheon, Anna chose to retire to her chambers, for a quiet afternoon of napping or reading, foregoing a further invitation of embroidery and discussion in the library. She had some thinking to do, and, with Elsa gone for the day, this would be a perfect opportunity.

So Kate wheeled her back into her chambers, helped her out of her dress and into her shift, bade her ring if the lady needed anything, and left Anna to the dozy wintery quiet of her bedchamber. Anna snuggled into her sheets, still enthralled by the sensation of cloth on her legs, though her legs and toes were not obedient just now. She closed her eyes and, immediately, Elsa flooded into her mind.

Not just any Elsa, but the Elsa she had seen this morning.

Elsa in her riding attire. She had been wearing a long-sleeved thick blue shirt tucked into straight-legged black pants, a belt cinched over her small waist. Her long platinum blonde tresses had been pinned up into a sleek and tight knot at the base of her skull. Anna had had only one other occasion to see Elsa dressed this way, and that had been months ago, and at a distance. To see her in this attire, and near enough to touch, had done something extraordinary to Anna's senses.

Something that, even now, she daren't name. It was enough to know that she'd gone weak in her proverbial knees.

Had Elsa sensed something? Anna wouldn't be surprised if she had; her therapist was a divining rod for emotion. Never in her life had Anna met anyone with such strong intuition.

Nor with such intriguing secrets. Every time Elsa allowed Anna a glimpse through a doorway inside the magnificent monastery that housed Elsa's memories, Anna sensed even more doorways, leading to even more fantastic stories. India. Leif. Canada. Her lost family. What else could possibly be slumbering behind those other locked doors?

As desperately as Anna wanted to know more of Elsa, she also wanted to open the doors of her own memories as well, to share things that she had rarely shared. The equality she had offered Elsa had to encompass this as well. Elsa had already shared two stories that were deep and meaningful, but Anna still hoarded her own.

At least now Anna wanted to share how it felt to see half her father's face frozen in a stroke, the night they deliberately sought a man for Anna to marry, to save her family's estates and fortunes. How angry Anna had been, doomed to a life where she would rarely have choices of her own!

She even wanted to tell Elsa about Hans and his abuses and infidelity, how stark and loveless her marriage had been, and thus the absolute blessing of her children and grandchildren. Her third and last secret, however, was something she dared never tell. Not to any other living soul.

But she thought of it now, in a very soft and gentle way, for it still pained her, these forty years later. It was the memory of tulips, and the smell of eucalyptus, and the sight of the Aegean Sea.

With her eyes closed, breathing slowly and deeply as Elsa had taught her, Anna's thoughts continued to drift.

She had seen something else this morning, hadn't she?

Oh, yes, she had.

As her conscious mind slipped towards sleep, her memory became muzzy but somehow even more certain of the truth.

She had suddenly blown Elsa a kiss as her friend and nurse had walked out the door. In the first years of her marriage with Hans, she had done likewise; he had always made a gallant gesture of catching that kiss and pressing it to his heart. She hadn't blown him a kiss since before the war. She had never thought to blow kisses ever again.

So to lift her hand, and blow this woman a kiss, meant more to Anna than Elsa might realize. It meant that perhaps Anna was able to open her heart again, to allow all sorts of joy and pain to come through that shy and complex doorway.

For what she had seen next still puzzled her. Just as Elsa was closing the door, Anna saw Elsa catch that kiss upon the palm of her hand. And then she lifted that palm and touched it to her lips. The door then closed, and Anna had stared at the back of it in delighted shock.

And endless confusion.

Why would Elsa have done so?

What could it mean?

Anna couldn't ponder it any longer, for she finally fell asleep.

She woke again, some two hours later, feeling warm and cherished and even more confused than before. Her dreams had been shallow, bumbling, delicious things that featured Elsa in ways that were quite surprising. Even now, Anna tried to grasp the edges of her dreams, but felt them as slippery as Elsa's massage oil; she could not keep them. They were blown away by her awakening mind as a child blows the white parachuting seeds of a dandelion, to dance and sway on the wind, never to be caught again.

With a sigh for her loss of those beautifully wicked dreams, Anna stretched her upper torso, and then used her hands to move and adjust her legs, all the while listening for sounds from the lounge. There were none. When she switched on the lamp, she realized it was near four o'clock; the sun would be setting in just half an hour, and Kate would be coming with tea. Elsa would soon be home. Anna swore Elsa would not see this rumpled, dishevelled woman when she arrived.

She looked over at her wheelchair. She had never practiced moving on her own accord from couch or chair or bed to her wheelchair. Someone was always there to assist her. The bell was nearby; she could easily ring for Kate.

But what if she tried doing it for herself? Elsa and Kate both made it look so incredibly easy, as they moved Anna from chair to bed to couch.

Well, Anna could fall. But she had fallen before, just over a month ago, in fact, with no more hurt than bruises and a wrenched pelvis. She could gamble that slight pain for the victory of independence that could await her.

Anna sat up in bed. First she visualized how she might move her body, to place her conscious yet unmoving feet on the floor, grasp the arms of the chair, and then briefly rise, putting her weight on those beautiful feet, and pivot into the seat of the chair. She pondered this for a while, imagining every step of the way.

When she felt she was ready, she took a couple of deep breaths. Then she put her feet on the ground, feeling them there, though she could not move them. She pulled the wheelchair closer and looked at that slight gap between her bed and the chair. "Remember bashing into dad's suit of armour?" she whispered aloud. "You broke your wrist that time. You've had many scrapes and falls, Anna. Fortune favours the brave. One. Two. Three!"

It all happened rather fast. Anna grasped the arm of her wheelchair with one hand and began to pivot with the other, trusting her feet to ground her. But then her knees went completely soft before she could hoist herself into the seat, and, just like that, she fell over, landing on her hip and wrist on the carpeted floor. She couldn't bite back the cry of hurt and surprise that came from her lips as she rolled onto her back and for a few moments she simply allowed herself to lie on the floor. Her wrist, indeed the one she had broken so long ago, ached, and so did her hip.

Only then did she realize she was laughing. Tears of pain came out of her eyes, but the chuckles were ones of hilarity. She took a few minutes to calm herself, and then said aloud, "Oh, if Elsa could see me now."

Anna looked up at her bed. It was immensely high above her. Her wheelchair was closer, but seemed to be mocking her. Even the bell to ring for Kate seemed rather far away. What to do?

First, she dragged herself, using her hands and arms to pull her body behind her, all the way to her dressing table. She grabbed the brush and comb, leaned back against the table, and proceeded to tame her rather wild mane by combing it and putting it into a simply ponytail. Next, she considered her shift. She would rather be dressed before Elsa came home again.

Oh, how her hip and wrist ached!

For the next half hour, her only prayer was that Elsa would stay away just long enough for Anna to dress herself. It must have looked like a Shakespearean tragic comedy. Anna wrestled out of her shift, pulled herself to her wardrobe and tugged on three different dresses before one came loose. It landed on her head, of course. She then considered her underclothes, grateful that she had no desire or inclination to look boyish and unwomanly like the young women of the times in those boxy, shapeless dresses of the flapper clubs of London! She rummaged about and found her softest, lightest brassiere to put on before comically pulling the dress over her shoulders and wiggling about like a fish on the floor until everything was in place. No matter how she tried, however, she couldn't finish tying the laces in the back. Oh, why couldn't she just wear a man's shirt like Elsa did?

Anna was gasping and laughing when it was over. She hadn't dressed herself in eleven months. Well, actually, she hadn't really dressed herself in years, for there was always some sort of maid nearby to help her with buttons and laces and stockings. Yet if the lower classes had the wit to dress themselves without assistance, then surely a Dowager Baroness could do the same!

Well, except for those stupid laces up the back of her dress. Who on earth designed this thing? A man, she supposed, who must believe women's arms had more than one joint! Surely it was also a man who had designed the beastly stockings Anna had eventually grown used to wearing.

She touched her hair again, for it had gone a little wild with her exertions, and she combed it once more before deciding to plait it into two braids that could hang over her shoulders. This style reminded her of her impetuous and daring youth, which she was surely channelling just now!

The gods must have heard her prayers, for she was dressed and combed and very nearly presentable (her lack of laces notwithstanding) by the time the sun had fully set at near four thirty.

Only then did she realize that Elsa still wasn't home. One glance at the clock was all it took to ascertain that it was just ten minutes or so before afternoon tea. Had something happened to her? She had promised to be back before tea!

Anna grimaced as her legs suddenly tingled and roared with pinpricks of pain. Her hip and wrist were still aching where she had struck the floor. She wondered how she actually looked, her dress askew and unlaced, sitting on the floor with her wizened legs before her. She leaned back against her bed and rubbed her thighs and knees, hoping to assuage some of the nerves that were popping and tingling. For all her talk of keeping secrets, she hadn't been entirely honest with Elsa about the extent of this maddening pain, though, if it continued like this, she would be forced to.

The pins and needles pain was often intense, and there were hours of it. Radiating down from the healing nerves in her back, down each of her legs, to prick her heels and feet, cramp her calves, and make her grit her jaw with the effort of containing it. The only moments of peace came in the hot baths, or during Elsa's massages.

Oh, but she could do with one of Elsa's massages just now!

Dear god, Elsa's massages. Elsa had come to her three months ago, and in that time she had learned an incredible amount about Anna's body. The massages only became better with time, as Elsa learned where to linger and where to go easy. Anna dearly wished she or anyone else had Elsa's special knowledge, to give her dear girl the same sort of respite that Anna received.

That thought suddenly snagged in her mind. Why couldn't someone else? Surely there were people at the teaching hospital in London, students of Elsa's old Master, who would know these techniques. Elsa herself professed of learning them at the monastery. Could Elsa teach these things to others, and pass on her valuable knowledge?

Perhaps that was one way Anna could keep her. She could employ Elsa forever, even after she regained the use of her legs, just to be her personal massage therapist. Elsa could stay at Iskall Slott, and teach others her techniques.

But who was she to deprive the next patient of Elsa's loyal service? Elsa herself had said her greatest gift was healing others. Elsa's hands were gifted, but her gifts were far greater than her hands alone. Anna valued her for her intuition, her intelligence, her resourcefulness and her very giving nature. Anna would be greedy indeed to keep such gifts to herself, wouldn't she?

As she sat on the floor, leaning against her bed while rubbing her legs, Anna frowned. At times she wished she weren't making such steady progress, because each day that passed with increased feeling in her legs hastened Elsa's permanent departure from her life.

The mere thought of it caused an unbearable fist of loss to constrict over Anna's heart. This feeling of loss was already greater and deeper by far than Anna had felt those brief moments when Elsa had admitted that her Master had requested her departure back to India. The mere thought of losing Elsa was so painful that Anna continually tried to thrust it from her mind.

Ever since Elsa had left Anna to see her Master in London, Anna had come to realize that she hadn't only relied on Elsa for physical health and rehabilitation. It was Elsa's nature and compassion that Anna also feasted upon, for Elsa somehow provided an entire banquet of affection, endless laden tables of delight and fondness, and a mindful consideration of Anna's feelings that she had never before experienced. All while saving something essential, keeping the deepest parts of her spirit tucked away.

Yesterday, Elsa had agreed to Anna's offers of silence, companionship, and equality. Whenever her nurse would finally return home, Anna might find out whether Elsa had truly accepted them or not. Anna knew she had much to do to fulfill her end of the bargain; all the affection and skill Elsa shared with Anna must somehow be returned!

It helped to know that they were closer in age than Anna had supposed; five years was not so great a divide at all. Not for true companions, and friends of the heart.

Speaking of Elsa, where was she?

Just then Anna heard the clinking of keys at the lock. She paused rubbing her legs and waited, somewhat breathless, to see who was on the either side of that unseen door. Only seconds later she heard a warm whoomph of surprise and satisfaction, and then she heard Elsa softly call out, "Anna, sweetheart, where are you?"

"In my room!" Anna called back. She took a moment to sit up as regally as she could, straightening her rumpled dress over her legs, there on the floor next to her bed. She could hear the sounds of Elsa taking off her coat and boots; her therapist was softly humming something. She sounded incredibly happy; Anna could scarcely wait to see Elsa's face.

Anna heard the soft, deliberate footfalls of Elsa's stride, and then she saw Elsa standing in the doorway to her bedchamber. There was a look of surprise upon her pale face for only a moment as Elsa's eyes swept the room, and then she saw Anna on the floor.

"Anna!" she cried out as she rushed to kneel at Anna's side. She immediately clasped one of Anna's hands and reached out to smooth Anna's brow. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

Anna gladly clasped that hand, even though Elsa's skin was frightfully cold. "Goodness, Elsa, you're frozen through!" She reached for Elsa's other hand and held it as well, hoping to infuse some of her own warmth into Elsa's freakishly cold hands. This woman was an icicle!

"Never mind that, are you all right?" Elsa replied, though she did not pull her hands away. Instead, she settled more fully on the floor, with a grace that Anna envied. Elsa exuded scents of winter sunshine, sea air, and also the unmistakeable aroma of horseflesh; Anna couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the combination.

"Oh, I'm right as rain," Anna replied, still holding and chafing Elsa's cold hands. "Just had a little adventure, that's all. My god, you're cold!"

"Fess up, my dear. Why are you on the floor? And, forgive me, rather dishevelled?"

Anna huffed at the word dishevelled and replied, "I woke up from my nap near an hour ago and decided it was high time I tried to get into my wheelchair by myself. Well… it wasn't. And once I was on the ground, I couldn't quite get up again." At the shock and horror on Elsa's face, Anna quickly continued, "I'm all right, really. Yes, I landed on my hip rather hard, and it's a little sore. And my wrist, too, one that I broke ages ago as a girl. But then I just decided to scoot around and do some things. Like get dressed by myself. And do my own hair." Anna released one of Elsa's hands long enough to tug on the end of one of her braids. "What do you think?"

"I think you are a brave and foolish girl," Elsa replied, with little tides of laughter rippling through her voice. "And I completely adore you." She finally pulled her other hand out of Anna's and stood up. She swayed for a moment, there on her feet, with her hand momentarily to her back. Anna's eyes narrowed to see this familiar gesture yet again.

But then Elsa reached down and with her strong and tireless arms lifted Anna off the ground and up onto the edge of her bed. This moment of closeness only reiterated how much Anna still needed Elsa, and how much her friend smelled like horse!

To her surprise, the moment Anna was settled again on the bed, Elsa said, "Well, now I can greet you properly." She leaned over, held Anna's face with one hand, and then her lips descended to quickly kiss Anna's cheek. She retreated before Anna's swimming senses truly understood what had happened, but then Anna realized she could still feel the frozen fiery touch of Elsa's lips on her cheek.

"I want to hear everything about your day," Anna said, taking Elsa's nearest hand to chafe once again; it was still so cold! Just then they both heard the sound of additional keys in the lock. There was Kate, being as awfully prompt as always, breaking their nice mood.

Elsa's neck turned, and Anna noticed how some locks of her hair had come loose, to dangle about her delicate ears and white neck. Then Elsa looked back at her, her blue eyes as bright and warm as August skies; was this how she never professed to feel the cold, because she somehow embodied an invincible summer?

"I want to tell you all," Elsa said quietly. "Let me see to the tea, and I'll come get you. I want to have a look at your wrist, too." She started to walk away, but it took Anna an additional moment to release Elsa's hand; their arms lifted as Anna did not let go of her hand, and Elsa paused to look back at her with a questioning look on her brow.

Anna blushed and abruptly let go of Elsa's hand. "Wha-?" Elsa began to ask.

"Miss Wolff, shall I lay the tea in the dining room or by the fire?" Kate called out.

Elsa looked back and forth between Anna on her bed and the lounge; Anna waved her hand in mute dismissal. Elsa took one last breath and then left the room, saying, "We shall take it by the fire, if you please, Kate."

The moment Elsa was gone Anna put her face in her hands. What on earth was wrong with her today? She listened, abashed, as Kate and Elsa had a brief conversation, mainly concerning dinner. Elsa didn't even stop to ask Anna's opinion. She just made the decision for them to have dinner in their chambers. Anna approved of the choice. There was no way she was letting Elsa out of her sight, not tonight.

A few minutes later she heard the unmistakeable sound of Kate's departure, and then Elsa came back to the room. Anna hurriedly took her face out of her hands and tried to straighten her spine. To her surprise, Elsa stopped in the doorway, touching it with one hand. She was more rumpled and tired-looking than she had been this morning, but the very look of her was somehow nourishing to Anna's spirit; Mother Magda had always said that everyone should have a balance of masculine and feminine energies (one of her kookier ideas that some people, like Hans, could never understand). But to see Elsa like this, in this long-sleeved shirt and riding pants, was to see Elsa confident, powerful, and immensely capable.

"You know," Elsa said, speaking from the doorway. "That evening after we first met. When you would not call me by my name. When you resisted me. When I hurt you with promises that must have felt empty. I'll freely admit now, my lady, that I went to my attic room that evening and despaired of ever reaching you. I thought you were beyond hope. By daylight I could pretend that I had the skill and power to revive you, but, at night, alone in my narrow bed, I dropped those pretences. I… I'm ashamed to admit I even thought of running away, once or twice, and accepting easier duties. You… you seemed beyond even my capacity to help or heal. I would break myself upon you and you wouldn't even have noticed."

Her voice slowed and grew even more contemplative as she took a few steps toward Anna, only to sit next to Anna on the bed. There she turned her beautiful neck and looked Anna in the eyes. "You held my hand like that, on our first day together. The first time I saw you in such pain, you could barely let me go. You've held it like that other times since. But it felt different today."

"Why do you think that is?" Anna asked, shifting slightly so she could see Elsa.

Elsa's eyes began to glisten. "Because this is the very first moment I think I truly, completely, absolutely believe that you will walk again, Anna Arendelle." She waved her hand at the wheelchair, still next to the head of the bed. "You have become so daring. So bold. So… insatiable. And foolish! Anna, what if you had broken your hip, or your wrist?"

Anna waved those words aside. "And here, all this time, I thought you were a stout believer," she replied. "Elsa, you made me believe just by the power of your faith alone. Not for one minute did I think you doubted your own abilities."

Elsa took another shaky breath even as she reached for Anna's hurt wrist. "My mother had a favourite saying. 'Fake it until you make it.' Basically, if you believe in something long enough, it will manifest. Somehow."

"I wish I could have met your mother," Anna said, simply and truthfully. She lightly hissed as Elsa found some achy, splintery part of her wrist.

"I wish that, too," Elsa replied.

"Even if you don't believe in yourself, or your abilities, I believe in you," Anna continued, a moment later. "In fact, by this point, my faith in you is rather unshakeable."

"And that frightens me. What if I fail you?"

"That's rather impossible. You've already done all the healing I require. I've told you this before, Elsa, I do not need to walk in order to be Anna Arendelle."

"Then what do you need?" Elsa asked, now simply holding Anna's wrist.

"All I need is time. Here. With you."

"Then you have what you need. Because here I am."

"I know." Anna slowly breathed out, and then looked down at her wrist. "So, what's the damage?"

"You've sprained it. Let me wrap it for you, and then we can go have tea. It's not too bad, but you'll have to be careful with it for the next week or so."

"We can still go in the pool, can't we?"

"Oh yes. No worries there. Wait here, honey, I'll be right back."

True to her word, Elsa departed and then reappeared a minute later with a standard gauzy dressing in her hands, which she proceeded to wrap around Anna's wrist, stabilizing its movement. When she was finished, and tied it with a knot, Anna waved it in the air. "Fetching, wot?"

Elsa laughed aloud. "Fetching indeed. Shall I fix your laces as well?"

"Oh, by all means, mention the laces."

"I only mention them, because I'm so pleased and exasperated that you tried this experiment on your own. Tomorrow I'll start teaching you how to move from your wheelchair to your bed and so on. I just didn't know you were that interested."

"Dare I say I wanted to impress you?"

"Oh, you've impressed me all right," Elsa said from somewhere behind her, her voice dry and her fingers still wretchedly cold as she did up Anna's laces. When she finished, she said, "Now then. Shall we go have some tea?"

"No offense, Elsa, but why don't you have a bath first? Take some tea and a scone with you, you must be hungry, but you… you smell like horse. And you're still icy cold."

To her surprise, Elsa tilted her head back and laughed. When she looked back at Anna again, her eyes were merry. "Oh, I know I smell like horse. How I have missed smelling like horse! Let me get you settled, then, and I shall rid myself of the horse smell."

A few minutes work had Anna transferred to her wheelchair, and then ensconced in the sitting room on the couch, with a pot of tea at her side and her book in her hand. Her bandaged wrist felt awkward and heavy. "Take your time, Elsa," she said as Elsa took the other pot of tea and a plate with a scone. "Get good and warm again. I should hate for you to catch cold. You don't need to rush back here on my account. We're friends, remember?"

Elsa lifted her lips in a frank smile. "Thanks, Anna. I might just take my time, then."

"We have all the time in the world. Go. Enjoy."

So it was a whole hour later before Elsa emerged again, her damp hair plaited into that long thick braid, and she was wearing a simple dress of dark forest green, offset with white silk and embroidery. She busied herself at the hob by the fire, heating a pot of water for refreshing the tea, and then sat down on the couch next to Anna.

Polished and clean, Elsa still radiated the rather fierce contentment Anna had perceived earlier upon Elsa's arrival after her ride. Anna had all sorts of questions to ask but, mindful of her promise, she took another sip of tea and merely asked, "Would you like to tell me about your day?"

Thus began a marvellous and surprising and heartfelt conversation, the first the two of them had ever truly enjoyed as friends. Elsa spoke of her ride, of seeing simple beautiful things, such as a fox streaking across the road, and the sight of the ruined castle on the hill, and how it made her think of how desperately people held on to their structures. "Because the universe doesn't always save us, does it?" she added quietly. "You know this more than anyone."

Anna thought of her legs, and of her dead husband, and agreed. "But even the ruins are glorious," she replied, unknowingly echoing Elsa's earlier thought. "From them we can build again. Sometimes."

"Sometimes, yes," Elsa echoed. "And sometimes, no."

Somehow the conversation meandered to Anna's wrist, and she laughingly told the story of growing up at her father's estate near Bergen. Her father was a deeply educated and civilized man, with a great penchant for artwork and armour, and had populated his house with many instances of both. "I have a younger sister, named Elise. I may never have mentioned her…" and she saw Elsa shake her head. "We were born six years apart, enough to make us grow up in very separate and distinct ways."

"Where is she now?"

"She inherited very little after my father died. I myself had only my dowry and my title. Our estates were to be inherited by our nearest male relative. Mother was… well, she was sequestered due to her alcohol abuse, and her depression from losing my father. So Elise went to university in America. She soon met a wealthy man, some fifteen years her senior, and has been living ever since in New York City." Anna sighed. "We haven't spoken in years. I think Johan and Lily wrote to her after Hans died, and I had my accident. But we didn't receive a reply. That ocean… is very wide sometimes. I know she had two children, but I don't even know if she has grandchildren."

Anna stared into her cup of tea before looking at Elsa again. "To get back on point, just before Elise was born, I still had the run of the house and the estates and the staff was tired of trying to shush me or control me. I had decided to slide down the banister one day, but it had just been polished, and was very fast, and I lost control and sailed right into a large suit of armour in the great hall below. That's how I broke my wrist."

Elsa laughed, clear and bright. "Oh, I can picture that clearly enough."

In the little pause that then ensued, Anna wondered if this was a good time to talk about her father, and the cold, calculating way they had been forced to choose Anna's future husband. Her younger self had chafed and seethed at these responsibilities foisted upon her, but had acquiesced all the same.

But then Anna realized that she just couldn't speak of this warm, kind man her father had been. It gave her a renewed sense of appreciation and empathy for Elsa, and for Elsa's courage in telling her meaningful tales.

 _One story at a time, Anna_ , she told herself, trying to be forgiving towards herself. _We'll get there._

A little while later they were seated at their private dining table. Candles had been lit, and two kinds of wine, a red and a white, accompanied their meal. Although they had shared many meals together by now, this one felt more wonderfully amiable than all the ones before. Their conversation continued to ramble and progress. Elsa told Anna about how she took a break in the middle of the day and danced in a little meadow by a stream. "I fair say my horse stared at me," Elsa laughed. "And it had been so many years since I danced."

"You must continue to hone those skills," Anna said, "for when it is Christmas and we have our annual ball, do not think that you will stand idly by the wall. You will not lack for partners, Elsa. You must dance!"

"And so must you. With your son. I haven't forgotten how important this is to you. You may be all fine and good with your progress thus far, but I'll stop at nothing to see you on your own two feet in time for Christmas."

Anna was slightly taken aback by the tone in Elsa's voice; it seemed somehow brittle, like thin frost over a mudpuddle. "As you wish," Anna mildly replied in return. "You're the one in charge around here."

"Is that so? Then I shall give you a massage tonight, my dear. I've seen you rubbing your legs now and then. I think you've been lying to me about your nerves."

Anna sighed. "Shall I 'fess up', as you call it?"

"Yes."

"It's pretty bad at times. Nothing I can't handle, nothing like I've gone through before…"

"But you don't have to handle it alone anymore, my heart. I'm here."

Anna had heard this same sentiment on Elsa's lips many times before. Those past instances had never had the intensity of the two times she had heard those words this very day, for now Elsa spoke these words as Anna's friend, and Anna's equal.

Those words smouldered on the altar of Anna's ever beating heart. Yes, for now, Elsa was here.

For now. And now was enough.

They passed the remainder of their dinner in lighter topics, both of them instinctively knowing that, with night-time, and firelight, and a massage completed, they might open even more fully to each other.

So after dinner was finished, they called for Kate, who quickly came to clear their dishes away. Anna noticed that Elsa hadn't been able to eat much, but before she could ask about it, Elsa was wheeling her over to the couch and helping her sit. "Would you have a sherry with me, Elsa?" Anna invited, knowing that Elsa very rarely drank (indeed she had only had water with their evening meal), but wanting to include Elsa nonetheless.

Yet Elsa agreed, on the condition that she and Anna could have a game of cards, or two, such as they had done on the ship. Opportunities to play cards had been rare, so Anna gladly agreed. She knew that Elsa wouldn't give her a massage on a full stomach, so this was a lovely way to pass the time.

So they sipped their sherries (both ladies eventually had two) and played cards. Elsa, probably tired of always losing, decided to teach Anna a brand new game called Four Kings in the Corner. She won the first few rounds, as Anna learned the ropes. But then Anna began to outwit her. By the time Anna had won five rounds, Elsa proclaimed her defeat.

"Was that husband of yours ever sharp enough for you?" Elsa unexpectedly said.

Anna, surprised, replied with the truth. "I suppose I was sharp enough to make him believe that he was the one with wits and cleverness in our family."

"I'm sorry, Anna. I shouldn't have spoken of him in that way."

"So why did you?"

"Because I've wondered about him. You haven't spoken much about him, which, to me, is evidence enough that perhaps your marriage wasn't all hugs and puppies and romance."

"Indeed it was not," Anna breathed, her heart beating hard in her chest. Was this the moment?

Elsa sat there, waiting.

Anna's courage deflated. Feeling wretched at herself, she said instead, "Have we digested enough for that massage?"

Elsa's smile seemed forgiving enough, as she put Anna in the chair and wheeled her into the bathing chamber. The massage was long and wonderful, though Elsa's fingers at first still seemed to retain some of their coolness from her long day out of doors. She took a moment to inspect Anna's hip; coincidentally the same one she had fallen on when she had slipped on the toy. "You'll bruise," Elsa admitted. "But I can find some arnica ointment to put on it if needed."

The night tilted past nine pm and tiptoed towards ten as Elsa continued to massage her body, paying exquisite attention to her feet, knees, and legs before roving up to her lower back and spine. Her curious thumbs found little knots in Anna's muscles, and kneaded them gently until they released. Higher and higher she wandered, until her hands had picked out Anna's childish braids to rub Anna's scalp.

Anna wanted to purr like a cat. She must have actually hummed something, for Elsa lightly chuckled before humming back. Some time later Elsa urged her onto her front where she covered Anna's stomach and chest with a sheet in order to lightly rub her stomach before sitting behind her to rub her shoulders and the muscles above her breasts.

"You're going to teach me how to move from my wheelchair to my bed or the couch?" Anna suddenly said, breaking the silence of many long minutes.

"Yes," Elsa replied.

"Then I also want you to teach me how to do this. Give me the basics of massage, Elsa, so I can give one to you."

She heard Elsa's breath trip in her throat. "If that is what you wish," she heard Elsa breathe in response.

"It is."

Was it only that sentiment, or was it something more that made Elsa seem pensive as they finished up the massage and she helped Anna into her sleeping robes? For Elsa suddenly seemed quiet and distant, and Anna wished she knew why.

Soon they were back in Anna's bedchamber, and warm lamplight and firelight cast twinned friendly shadows into the corners of this welcoming space. Elsa helped Anna into her bed; Anna decided to sit against the headboard, hoping to welcome even a tiny bit more of this most wonderful conversation. She just didn't want it to end. Not yet.

"Would you stay a moment longer, Elsa?" she asked as she shuffled into position against the headboard.

"Yes," Elsa replied, taking a seat on that chair that was perpetually by Anna's bedside. "Something on your mind?"

"No. I just wanted to give you a bit more space and time. In case there was something else on yours."

Elsa took a moment to pour them both glasses of water from a nearby jug. She took a sip of hers. Anna stayed silent. "In fact, there are a few more things I would like to share with you, Anna," Elsa finally said. When Anna continued to just look at her, her face as open and friendly as she could make it, Elsa went on to say, "I started my ride innocently enough. In my morning meditation I had prayed to the universe for focus, to enjoy the simple things, the unexpected joy that your birthday present would allow me to experience. And for some hours, it worked. I rode without thinking, without remembering, just existing. I … I needed that.

"But as the day progressed, my thoughts inevitably turned towards one single direction. They turned towards you." Elsa took a deep breath. "I thought of all your gifts to me. Your offers of silence, of friendship and equality. I thought of how well you have come to know me, and the things that bring me joy. I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to be astride a horse again, to enjoy a pastime that connects me to my youth, and to my lost family.

"The offer to become your friend and companion is the one that has struck me most of all. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than to invite you into my confidences, and to be invited into yours. You need to know something, m'lady. We spend many hours together, you and I. But you should know that I genuinely enjoy your company. I like you, Lady Skaldenfoss. Anna."

Warmth surged through Anna's chest at Elsa's simple yet heart-felt words; she felt that warmth colour her cheeks as well as she blushed. "I like you too, Elsa," she replied. "You are like no one I have ever known."

Elsa softly exhaled. "There. I said it. And I felt as awkward as anyone ever has while courting. It's a good thing we have already exchanged candy and flowers."

Anna chuckled along with her, lifting her hand to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ears. For some reason, Elsa tracked that small movement with her eyes, a measure of… what was that emotion behind her eyes?

When their eyes met again, Elsa coloured and reached for the bottle of essential oil. "May I rub your hand, Anna?" she asked.

If it would help Elsa stay longer, of course Anna would say yes. "If you wish," Anna replied. Elsa rose from the chair to reach for the oil, kept on a higher shelf. As she did so, she audibly hissed and grimaced, her hand going to her own back for a moment to assiduously rub. "Are you feeling all right, Elsa?" Anna asked.

"It's been a long time since my last ride, my lady," Elsa absently replied. "And my back has been a plague to me for years."

"Since the accident in the mountains," Anna supposed aloud, wondering if she could coax out another story.

"Just so," Elsa agreed, though Anna thought she caught a slight evasion in those short words. Elsa sat down again and reached for Anna's undamaged hand, but then it was Anna's turn to hiss as a singular bolt of pain raced down her leg. She shot her hand to a spot just above her knee and rubbed.

Elsa immediately untucked Anna's leg and took it in her talented hands. "Really, my lady, how bad does this nerve pain get?" Elsa asked as she began to bend and extend the leg, back and forth, pointing the toe and circling the ankle. All of which helped to minimize the prickly thorns of pain that had sprouted through the walls of her nerves like a curse from a bad fairy tale.

"Pretty bad sometimes," Anna admitted. Elsa had used 'my lady' again, but perhaps it would take time for her to shed those last habits of their previous months together.

Elsa whispered something under her breath as she continued to focus on Anna's leg. "What was that, Elsa?" Anna asked.

"I said Google, my dear. Never mind me. I'm just thinking aloud. Wishing I knew a better way to help you."

"I didn't expect this to be a walk in the park, Elsa. We're both doing our best." She watched as Elsa worked on her legs for a few minutes longer, and was gratified to feel the pain subside until it slumbered once again. "That's already better, thank you."

"If those pains come to you in the night, try the extensions I have just done, with those ankle rotations, using your hands if needed," Elsa advised as she got up, tucked Anna's leg back under the covers, and returned to Anna's side. She took Anna's hand once again and began massaging it with oil, her thumb absently grazing the inside of Anna's wrist.

Unbidden, Anna found her breath cluttering her throat. Her other, bandaged wrist gave a sympathetic throb.

 _I like you, Anna_.

It was no more than a schoolyard sentiment, but it meant a lot to Anna. As Elsa continued to work in this warm and decadent silence, Anna thought of these strange pangs that had begun to assault her heart. Her premature worry and anxiety over Elsa's eventual departure was one clue, and the way she had stared at Elsa in her riding attire was another. What did she truly feel for this woman?

Moments like this were both beloved and inexplicable. Why did her breath stop short in her lungs as Elsa's hand grazed the inside of her wrist? Why did her heart wrench so at the way Elsa smiled at her? Why was Elsa constantly upon her mind, both a mental and physical _presence_ , and now a greater influence upon Anna than her dead husband or her parents had ever been?

Anna wanted to shut these feelings away, just as desperately as she wanted to experience them more fully. She felt so odd, so very confused, and strangely young again, as if she were only a schoolgirl experiencing the ravages of a first infatuation.

Once again those beloved tulips came to her mind, and how the stardust had seemed tangled in Ingrid's hair.

Anna took a deep breath, gently shoving those memories away. This was not the time to think of such things. Those feelings had to be kept bottled up and hidden just as they had been for her entire life.

But something happened again when Elsa turned her hand over. She took Anna's hand with all of her long, cool fingers, to massage Anna's palm, and stroke her wrist, and Anna could barely stand it any longer. Her mouth turned dry, her thoughts went fuzzy around the edges, and she felt something deep and powerful begin to growl and beg inside her.

Her dearest companion looked so incredibly lovely tonight, so full of life and vitality and light. Anna couldn't help but stare at her.

Elsa's neck. It confounded her.

Anna realized she wanted something. And as she realized what she truly wanted, she immediately buried her awful desire without a second thought. What if Elsa should see it on her face? It would revolt her, disgust her!

Despite her best intentions, something must have flowered ever so briefly on her face, for Elsa stopped working and looked at her, lifting a single, exquisitely beautiful eyebrow.

It was too much.

Desperate, Anna deliberately yawned. She couldn't bear to be near Elsa any longer, not with this great growling hungry thing inside her. In this moment, Elsa and her loveliness represented everything Anna had ever yearned for and been denied.

The depth of her sudden want terrified her and filled her with shame and horror.

"Are you tired, honey?" Elsa asked. "Shall I leave you for the night?"

Anna couldn't stop the colour from entering her cheeks. She covered her mouth with the back of her other hand as she manufactured another yawn. "I'm suddenly exhausted," she lied. "Thank you for everything tonight, Elsa. I hope you sleep well." She gently extricated her hand from Elsa's grasp and began to snuggle down in her sheets, hoping it would help hasten Elsa's departure. Oh, she was so desperately confused!

To her surprise, Elsa's expression became incredibly complex, and she looked at Anna with shades of admiration, warmth and even exasperation on her face. Elsa suddenly leaned forward and tucked that obstinate tendril of hair back behind Anna's ear; her finger brushed against Anna's jaw, and Anna tried to control a shudder as her heart suddenly cracked open.

"Then before I take my leave, let me say thank you for today. For the ride, for the conversation, for making promises and keeping them. Dearest heart, thank you," Elsa whispered as she then cupped Anna's warm cheek with her cool hand.

Anna's heart roared with the words, and with the sensation of Elsa's hand on her cheek.

For a long moment they stared at each other.

Anna felt the crack in her heart split open like a great crevasse, and she trembled on the edge of the abyss. Fear and elation consumed her. The softness of those fingers on her cheek, the love in Elsa's deep blue eyes; Anna could scarcely abide it.

Then Elsa leaned forward and pressed her lips against Anna's forehead in a soft yet firm kiss, just there on her pale scar. Anna's breath once again stopped sharp in her throat. She closed her eyes as she was cast back into memory, of that horrifying day when the pain monster threatened to consume her, for it had been the first and only other time Elsa had kissed her so.

As bewildering and wonderful as this kiss was, it couldn't last forever, and Elsa eventually withdrew. Anna opened her eyes and watched her companion sit back against the chair, Elsa's eyes still brimming with love and affection. Anna willed herself to be strong, to be brave, to lean into this unexpected moment with all its complexity and fierce beauty, and with all of its confusion.

But she just couldn't.

For there was truth here, but it was her own truth, with sharp edges that seemed not to have dulled with the passage of time. These edges were so sharp, so dire that they could sever every bond she had painstakingly forged with her therapist, her friend, her Elsa.

She dared not utter them.

And she could not bear to see Elsa any longer. Not like this.

So Anna licked her dry lips and whispered, "Elsa, you are most welcome. Sleep well, sweetie. I'll see you in the morning."

"Same to you, Anna."

Anna was forced to watch Elsa rise from her chair and tidy the little table. She watched with desolation and despair ravaging that canyon in her heart as Elsa smiled one last time in her direction and began walking away.

Elsa walked away, and did not look back. At the last moment Anna actually lifted her hand, to ask Elsa to stop and come back to her, but then Elsa closed the door.

Anna felt it like a blow to her flesh.

There was emptiness, a hollow feeling to the space that Elsa had so recently vacated. Anna slumped back against her headboard and stared at her lightly oiled hand. She closed her eyes and sank into the memory of Elsa's lips against her forehead, those cool slender fingers against her cheek. Just how did Elsa regard her? Was this how she treated all her friends, with such vast seas of fondness and affection?

Suppose Elsa acted this way with everyone she worked with. Anna had never asked, but it seemed completely within Elsa's character. Perhaps there was nothing that made Anna special, that set her apart from others. She knew Elsa wore a single gold band on one of her fingers; Anna had been incredibly curious about it, but never dared ask what it meant. Surely Elsa's heart had already been given away, to a patient, to a lost lover; what fondness Elsa gave so freely to Anna was still somehow within the bounds of her duties as Anna's nurse and therapist. Wasn't it? Anna had no right to imagine more.

Anna stared at her feet as she continued to shuffle down in her bed, until her head was resting on her pillow. She could feel her toes against the sheets. And now, after all the loving attention Elsa had lavished on her this evening, she could move them again. She gave them an exploratory wiggle but did not smile to see them move. Her heart was too bleak and confused for smiling. Once settled, she leaned over and turned off her lamp. The glowing coals of the near sleeping fire now lit her bedchamber.

She could hear Elsa out in the lounge for a time, and then Anna heard her enter her own bedroom, right through this thin wall. Anna grabbed her knees and turned on her side so she faced that wall instead of the curtained window. Again she could hear Elsa moving about, and finally silence.

A soft sizzle of nerve-fire went racing down Anna's legs; she reached down and rubbed her knees and calves, somewhat wishing that they were Elsa's confident and experienced hands. She rubbed, and waited, and eventually the pain eased.

Despite her nap earlier in the day, Anna felt heavy and contented and ready for sleep. Perhaps the next day she could be bolder yet, and start the dialogue that could reveal her own edges and secrets.

Sleep crept close to her, and settled along her body like a generous and considerate lover.

Yet another jolt of pain went shuddering down her legs, stronger than the previous one. Anna bit back a whimper as she rolled over. She turned on her lamp and then sat up a bit so she could use her arms and hands to extend and flex her legs, just as Elsa had done earlier. She pointedly ignored the bell by her table. Elsa needed her sleep. Anna could handle this.

More time passed before the prickly jolts subsided. Exhausted, Anna leaned back against her headboard and rubbed her temples; she had a very thin headache. She was about to turn off her lamp and attempt sleep once more when she heard a light knock on her door. "Come in, Elsa," she called quietly, somewhat surprised.

Elsa opened the door, to reveal that the lamp in the lounge was still lit and she was still wearing her lovely dark green day dress.

It was Elsa's expression that astonished Anna most; Elsa was beaming with mischief and joy. "If you're not too fatigued, my lady, would you come outside with me? I want to show you something."

Anna stared at her. "Outside," she repeated, dumbfounded.

"Yes, my lady."

"Now. In the middle of the night."

"Also yes."

Anna could not deny her, even when her whole body cried out for sleep. Elsa had such a look of delight and exuberance on her face, and Anna was curious to find out why. So she pulled back the covers and put her thin legs down on the floor. Elsa went to her closet, rummaged for warm clothes, and returned to Anna, swiftly dressing her in thermal leggings, socks, and a long wool dress. She put Anna in her wheelchair, dumped no less than four blankets on Anna's lap and wheeled her out into the lounge. There Elsa put on her own winter things; her heavy boots looked ridiculous beneath her lovely dress. She took the blankets away long enough to wrap Anna in her own thick winter coat, topped with shawl and hat. Lastly she wrestled Anna's feet into her own thick and rarely used winter boots.

All the while Anna watched and participated in comedic puzzlement. "Ready?" Elsa finally asked.

"Um, yes?" Anna replied, her voice filled with bubbles of curiosity and levity. Elsa's excitement was infectious. What on earth was this all about?

Elsa took that very slight assent as permission. She unlocked the door to their apartment, wheeled Anna out, and locked it again behind her. The hallways of the resort were quite dark, but they had been here long enough to know how the place was laid out. Though they had every right to be out and about in the resort, an unmistakeable and long-dormant thrill infused Anna's bones, reminding her of the boarding school in London and night-time mischief with her girlfriends.

Just before they entered the lobby to go outdoors, Elsa paused in pushing the wheelchair. She came out from behind the chair to crouch and look in Anna's eyes. "Would you indulge me, my lady? There is something I want to show you, but I would like it to be a surprise. Would you keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them? We don't have far to go."

"You are certainly setting the stage for something big, aren't you?" Anna said, smiling and closing her eyes as Elsa bade. "Go on then, Elsa. Surprise me."

She felt Elsa squeeze her gloved hand before she retreated back behind the wheelchair. Anna heard the squeak of the wheels against the tiled floor of the lobby, and then felt the awkward dance of unlocking, opening and holding the door while pushing the wheelchair through. Anna then delighted in the cold yet sweet night air upon her face, beautiful for late November. She hadn't been outside at all today; she felt a slight twinge of guilt for missing out on it. At least she was outside now and, bundled as she was, she didn't feel cold.

Anna imagined where they were going, sinking herself into her other senses as Elsa pushed her along. There was the crunch of her wheelchair over the gravel driveway and then Elsa turned to push her through the gate and into the gardens. In her mind's eye, Anna saw them progress along the paths that were paved with stone for the ease of all the wheelchairs. She thought she knew where Elsa was taking her; up to the little hill that stood in the middle of the garden, bare of ornament or tree.

"We're nearly there," Elsa whispered as she stopped the chair a few minutes later. "Keep your eyes closed a few minutes longer. I'm going to lay some blankets out on the grass, and then I'll come back for you. Are you all right?"

"Perfectly all right, though I'm about to perish with curiosity," Anna said. Her eyes still closed, she took off her glove and put out her hand, out into the chilly darkness, and was immensely gratified when Elsa briefly took it and gave it a quick squeeze; apparently Elsa had taken off her gloves as well. The heavy weight of the blankets on her lap was suddenly taken away. She listened as Elsa left her, and caught faint hints of sounds and movement, such as those blankets being put on the ground and tugged just so. Then there was Elsa's long-legged and booted stride coming back to her.

"I'm back, my lady," Elsa said, rather unnecessarily. "Are you ready?" It was their universal question for moving from the wheelchair. Anna nodded and used her hands to shuffle her body slightly forward, knowing it made Elsa's job slightly easier. Soon she felt Elsa's strong arms under her knees and shoulders. With a slight oomph of exertion, Elsa picked her up and began carrying her up the slope. Anna relaxed in Elsa's arms, thinking of the time Elsa had similarly carried her into her bathing chamber, the day of her worst pain.

They had shared and experienced so much since then! Oh, thank god Elsa chose to come back to her, instead of taking her Master's ashes back to India.

Yes, she had chosen Elsa. And Elsa had also chosen her.

"I'm going to set you down now, my lady," Elsa soon murmured. "When I do, please lay down completely on your back."

"Are we surrounded by a crowd of people, Elsa?"

"No, m'lady? We're quite alone."

"Then I believe my name is Anna."

"You'd think I could just get used to such a little thing, don't you?" Elsa quietly replied, carrying Anna across the sweet smelling grass, her words somehow instantly wider, her accent broader, losing the lilt that she had picked up while in service. It was an accent that Anna instantly associated with the wide prairie skies of Elsa's homeland, and it cheered her heart immensely to witness it. "I guess even now I'm a poor student, but dedicated to improvement all the same. Down we go, Anna."

Her senses acutely aware, Anna felt the softness of at least two blankets against the firmness of the ground as Elsa set her down. She followed her instructions and began to lie down, vastly pleased to feel Elsa settling down right next to her, guiding Anna's movements with her hands. Elsa helped Anna stretch out her legs and settle her pelvis in a good way. She heard the soft whoosh of the extra blankets unfurling, and felt their simple weight against her body, providing even further protection against the cold.

Anna could only imagine what might come next, some view of the heavens, most likely. She had seen the constellations many times before, and the wash of stars that were called the Milky Way. Could this be the source of Elsa's excitement? If so, Anna would appreciate it, even if only for Elsa's sake.

Elsa seemed to take forever in fussing over the blankets, but she finally settled down right next to Anna's body. "Lift your head, my dear," she whispered. Anna obeyed, and felt Elsa put out her arm for Anna to use as a pillow.

"Take a deep breath, please." Elsa's breath was warm against her ear; Elsa had never been this physically close to her before, at least not outside the pools and baths.

Anna did, and the breath she took was magnificently silver in colour, and extended with frosty life into her lungs, spearing her to this one moment.

"Now, when you are ready, my dearest heart, you may open your eyes and look up." There was delight and reverence in her voice, but it was the simple sound of 'dearest heart' that caused Anna's soul to quake and tremble in affection and love. She took a moment to savour that sound and only then did she open her eyes.

And instantly gaped in absolute wonder.

The night sky above her was coruscating in waves of green and pink, great shimmering curtains that danced and sighed across the starry black heavens. "Oh my god," Anna whispered. "The aurora…"

"Oh, yes," Elsa breathed.

Anna reached under the blanket and took Elsa's hand, then pulled it over and held it near her heart. Suddenly speechless and breathless with the awesome celestial display above her, Anna needed someone to touch, someone to ground her before she was swept away with the aurora in the night sky.

Elsa shuffled even closer to her, until their bodies touched each other, there under the blankets. Her nearness was soothing, her breath warm and enchanting. "Isn't it breathtaking?" Elsa whispered, tenderly cupping and holding Anna's hand, there above Anna's heart.

"There are no words," Anna gulped, for there were tears in her eyes, and tears in her throat; she was awestruck with the sight above her. The northern lights continued to flicker and dance, perhaps with greater grace and majesty than just moments before, as if conscious now of this rapt audience and wishing to give a most divine performance. Anna used her free hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, swiping away the prisms of light that hung from the teardrops on her eyelashes. Though she had grown up in Norway, she had always lived south of the auroral zone, and had only faint recollections of seeing the aurora once, perhaps twice before in her lifetime.

The reality of these celestial beams of light was too great to be borne; they were immense, they were aged, they were rays of otherworldly light that whispered truth in a celestial tongue that only the deepest part of Anna understood. The minutes passed slowly, sweetly, just like toffee, just like gloss, as Anna and Elsa watched the colours bend and weave and stream.

And then Anna Arendelle felt something great and lustrous click deep within that crevasse of her heart; it felt like Elsa's first spinal adjustment, but this was grander, deeper, and infinitely more wholesome. Trembling and enthralled, Anna actually felt a deep and ancient wound suddenly heal, as a part of her soul came into full alignment for the first time in many long years.

And though it made no initial sense to her, Anna's memory flitted back, seemingly of its own accord, to that day upon the Aegean seaside when she was a lass of seventeen. In this very instant, the spicy smell of eucalyptus was somehow in her nostrils, and she felt the grit of sand under her bare toes. Her bewildered heart was shattered and irreparable as she wept over the disaster of her great loss, as all such losses must feel at that tender age.

Anna had made a desperate vow that day, to never fall in love again with someone she could not have. And then she had taken the broken, aching and deeply wounded part of her heart and soul, liberally tore it from her chest in angry mental hands, and then she had cast it forth into the sea with a desperate scream. There it had drifted away, and Anna forever believed it dissolved, consumed, or otherwise vanished.

She had no idea that it had merely drifted upon the waves of an endless sea, until it was taken up into the warm bosom of the sky, and set carefully aside for this very moment of reunion.

Now here she was. Forty years had passed, and Anna Arendelle had once again been gifted with that part of her immortal heart and soul, the part she had mercilessly torn away so long ago. It would drift no longer on the tides of an otherworldly sea; it flitted easily and joyfully into the present moment universe of her body and spirit. There to thrum and pulse and radiate with the purest satisfaction and self-love that Anna had ever known.

 _I… I can love whom I wish to love._

 _And I can accept and even rejoice in all the possible consequences._

 _For all love is divine. Just as I am divine._

Her heart leaped into her throat with gladness. Her body quivered in recognition and transcendence. She had never felt this miraculously whole, this complete, this unutterably _perfect_.

Indeed, Anna roiled with such joy and divine light that she was surprised not to see it emanating from her skin. How could Elsa bear to hold her hand, as Anna became inseparably connected with the universe itself?

Anna felt _everything_. The blanket on her body. The weight of the boots on her feet. The warm puff of Elsa's breath near her ear. The chill air upon her cheeks and lips. And Elsa's hand, clasped with her own, above her seemingly immortal heart.

So much had been returned to her, gifts glorious and true, and all of them somehow had passed over the palms of Elsa Wolff's hands. What if Elsa had not brought her outside tonight? Would Anna even have known what she had been missing?

Oh, to feel this whole, this complete, this _alive!_

All of her worries and fears of the past few days dissolved away as the eternal delight of the aurora continued to sift through the blankets, through her skin, latching onto the very energy that fuelled her being. What were anxiety and fear, really, when such beauty as this awaited her?

A thought pierced her with clarity. Fear was just another ocean to cross, and like any ocean, she could not truly imagine or predict what was on the other side. Pain and heartache and terror were just shadows, stealing her light, obstructing her path. But beyond fear, beyond pain, came moments just like this one, this beloved connection of Anna Arendelle with the universe that had created her, this universe that joyously danced and sung before her enchanted eyes.

The Anna of three months ago could never have imagined it. She had been encased in cement, cocoons of pain and nightmares, where beauty could not be imagined, let alone perceived.

Awestruck and spellbound, speechless and breathless, Anna lounged on November grass and continued to watch the celestial display, gladness and deep fulfilment striking ever-new notes of delight and joy in her heart.

An eternity passed in this shared communion of bliss and peace. Anna swore she could feel the dust of the aurora actually land on her; delicate and soft like the wings of moths.

This is what Elsa had truly meant when she had mentioned how to _arrive_. Here they were, two souls brought together by sacrifice and heartache, bound now by faith and love, both of them wonderfully whole and complete, just now, just the way they were.

So when Elsa suddenly tensed and released Anna's hand to rub her back, Anna felt her aurora-heart bleed with empathy and concern, far greater than ever before. Anna turned her neck to look at her companion, and saw that Elsa's face was dimly illuminated by the celestial lightshow above them, and by the near full moon that shone nearby.

After a moment, Elsa took a deep breath and stilled her hand, and then looked right back at Anna.

Elsa had never appeared more alluring. The aurora did something mystical to her features; she was scarcely human in this moment. How could anyone human have known that Anna needed this so desperately, that this was where she could regain this small yet essential part of her soul?

An unimaginable depth of love filled Anna, love as aged and immense and divine as the aurora that coruscated above them.

"My dearest Elsa. How do you always know just what to do? How did you know I needed this?"

A breath, maybe two, as Elsa slowly continued rubbing her back. Then she spoke, "Because I needed this, so very much, and I dearly wanted you with me. The aurora borealis is rarely seen this far south, and I wondered if you had occasion to see them before. Oh, look up, Anna, look up and see them glide…"

Anna reluctantly tore her gaze away from Elsa's face to drift upwards again at Elsa's behest, watching the swooping features of the ecstatic sky.

Elsa continued to whisper in her ear. "I remember seeing them as a young girl in Canada, across fields glittering with new snow, so that the lights of the aurora were reflected off them, just like mirrors, just like glass… The local Indians had legends about these lights, and said that there were spirits who lived in the sky, and that these were blessed moments to listen to those sky spirits and receive wisdom and strength from beyond our world." Her voice grew pensive. "And, as a girl, I needed all the wisdom and strength I could get."

Anna readily savoured the images and information Elsa had just shared. The strangeness and truth of it caused a shiver to cascade over her skin, and she momentarily shuddered. Elsa abruptly finished rubbing her own back and asked, "Are you warm enough, Anna? Should I take you back inside?"

Anna answered by daring to burrow closer to Elsa's body, so that she was partly lying on Elsa's side, Elsa's warmth all along the length of her body. She was immensely pleased when Elsa curled even closer to her in response, and then Elsa even put her arm protectively over Anna's waist, holding her tight.

"Oh, that's better," Anna breathed, her heart soaring as she continued to look upwards at the night sky. "I am warm enough. I need to see this."

She heard Elsa sigh in pleasure, and the beautiful sound of it was like kitten claws in Anna's heart, tugging at that deeper place within.

"Do you have any idea what causes them, Elsa?" Anna asked a few moments later. "They move like water, like a stream."

"As far as I remember, they are caused by solar winds that interact with our atmosphere. The gaseous particles hit the air and give off an electrical charge that causes this change in colour. Earth's magnetic field is weaker at higher altitudes, which is why the aurora common occurs in oval bands around the north and south poles. When I looked out the window earlier, I couldn't believe that one had wandered this far south." She took a soft breath, there near Anna's ear. "I knew it was a sign, for me, and for us."

Anna glanced over at her nurse, grinning and bemused. "Was that even English, Elsa?"

Elsa smiled. "That's why I always enjoyed the story about the sky spirits as well."

Anna mentally chewed on this strange scientific explanation for a moment or two and finally deemed it as yet another proof of Elsa's uncanny knowledge. Elsa might be terrible at playing cards, but she had deep wells of education and insight that Anna had never before imagined.

They continued to watch in silence, the coldness of the air keeping everything sharp and crisp, and Anna took strength and emotional sustenance from the curvy warm body next to hers and that beloved arm over her waist as much as the cascades of beauty across the heavens. It had been so many months since she had been so physically close to another person. In fact, the last person to lay this close to her had been Hans, during their final doomed visit to Ingrid in Oslo last January. Eleven whole months ago.

Could anyone else understand how essential human contact truly was? Now that Anna was here, lounging on November grass under the celestial river of the aurora borealis with a beloved person curled up close to her, Anna once again felt her loss assault her heart. The loss she felt was not really for Hans' demise, but for all the years of lack she had lived through. She had never been this quiet with him, this deliciously content and comfortable.

And in the dreadful months that had followed after the accident, months of illness and pain and traction and infection, Anna had never imagined she could experience this type of connection. Surely she would never remarry, she would never bring another man into her heart and into her bed. She was too old, she was too established in her life and her routines.

 _Truth now, Anna_ , the aurora whispered. _This is where truth must be told._

And her deeper, unified soul answered.

She hadn't wanted anyone else in her life for a far simpler reason. She had only wanted her life to end.

Anna had always been taught that taking one's life was against the will of God. But she had made her decision all the same, as if going out softly would be less of a sin. That by eating less and withdrawing more, she could just drift away between one breath and another, and it wouldn't have been her fault, not really. The immense pain she felt had been a welcoming albeit abhorrent tide, and she would walk out onto the beach and drift away with it and out into the endless sea.

To be mourned, for certain, but life would have gone on. Her family would have learned to live without her, just as they had eventually learned to live without Leif, and Heidi, and Hans.

And how wrong she would have been, to miss out on moments such as these. She wouldn't have experienced this exquisitely warm and womanly body that held her in an embrace, this sharp smelling grass, this cool nip of winter air, and the dance of the sky spirits all green and pink in the heavens above.

And now, this blessed reunion of a fragment of her spirit with her highest spirit, this sense of completion that had eluded her for her entire life. Some part of her had been waiting for this one moment, this perfect moment, to come home.

Emboldened by the proximity of this woman who had come into her life as her therapist only to become Anna's dearest friend, secure in the knowledge that they were blissfully alone, Anna finally dared to speak. She tentatively put her hand on top of Elsa's hand, there on her waist, and even spread Elsa's fingers apart so she could twine their fingers together.

She heard Elsa take a sharper inhale, but before Anna could worry that she had crossed some line, she felt Elsa's chin briefly nuzzle her shoulder in wordless acceptance of Anna's gesture.

"I can't thank you enough for this," Anna whispered, turning her head just slightly, so she could see the slim halo of light on the edge of Elsa's face and still see some of the glorious lights above. "In moments like these it's hard for me to believe that I've only known you for a few months. I feel as if you've always been part of my life. And that's why, my dear, I feel sad that I have not taken opportunities to get to know you better."

"Please don't feel sad, Anna," Elsa replied. "You've already taken steps beyond most of my patients. If I may be honest here, where only the aurora can hear us, I would say that… oh, honey, to me your entire world is so orderly, so… circumscribed. I learned early on the futility of chafing against the rules and rituals of the nobility I served. I came to you with no expectations other than serving you. I knew my real place in your life, my role as your therapist and care-giver. At no point in my care with so many others, in France, in India, and beyond, had any of my patients exhibited much interest in seeing beyond the surface of me. So why should I expect someone as important and prominent as you would want to delve any deeper?"

The plaintive quality of her words was enough to cause Anna to turn her face, to focus her attention solely on Elsa.

Then she opened her mouth and began to speak, not knowing what she was saying, but trusting the words nonetheless, for they seemed to emanate from that blessedly aligned part of her heart and soul.

"Because every person we meet has more than a gift or purpose inside them, they have an entire endless sea," Anna slowly said. Her words felt strange but enormously _right_ on her tongue. "Do you understand what I'm saying? Yes, there is a surface to life, and we spend most of our time living there. But deep and abiding memories, and experiences that touch our souls, they only happen in the deep. Out where the leviathans are. Out where we have no islands to shelter us, no land to protect us. That's where we experience whatever God is, Elsa. Where we are but skin, and bones, and breath, and nothing else."

Elsa's eyes were wide open, drinking Anna in. The aurora danced in her eyes.

"Have you always known this truth, Anna? How do you know these words?"

"I don't know them. I've never known them until just this moment, when I dared say them aloud. God, I don't even know what I'm saying right now. But I trust these words, whatever they are, because they don't really seem to be coming from me at all. Maybe that's how this endless sea works. Because it is truly endless. Because it touches every other sea that inhabits every other person on earth. And in moments like this, when we are so intimately close to someone else, those seas merge to create something more, they merge to create a perfect connection with the universe as well. Oh, how the universe must long for people to realize this truth, how it must agonize and wait for anyone who can overcome their fears and come to this understanding, how it must delight in the love and connection that is the inevitable result. And now look, Elsa, look how the universe rewards us!"

Anna kept one hand entwined with Elsa's, so she lifted her bandaged hand to touch Elsa's chin and gently crane it upwards towards the sky. There she watched as Elsa briefly closed her eyes, and a single tear spilled down her cheek. When Elsa opened her eyes again, another tear came rolling down. Anna used her thumb to wipe them away.

She felt Elsa take several long, shuddering breaths.

So, as Elsa looked upwards into the gracious night sky, Anna bent close to whisper in Elsa's ear. "I perceive the painful depth of your question, Elsa. Why would someone like me want to see beyond the surface of you? To be honest, I didn't at first. Our first evening together, I saw you as a demon, not an angel. I wanted death to swallow me and spit up my bones. I wanted my pain to end. The last thing I desired was a new nurse, someone who would thwart me in this desire. What I thought of as my last best desire."

She felt Elsa take another gulping breath; her neck moved as she swallowed. She still looked up, up into the ocean of stars and the lights that sailed thereon.

"But there you were, with your uncanny techniques, your knowledge and skills the likes of which I have never before encountered nor imagined could exist. Day by day you made me fall in love with living again. You brought light, joy, and laughter back into my life. You taught me how to withstand the pain. You made me promises, and kept them. But I still resisted you, still I pushed you away… until the day God gave me more pain than I could possibly endure on my own. That was the day everything changed. The day you dared to call me by my name, and I finally called you by yours. That day changed everything."

Elsa turned her head, and then she shifted on her side to more fully face Anna, choosing to ignore the celestial display above so she could give her complete attention to Anna's words. There was wonder and vulnerability clearly expressed on her face and in her voice when she spoke, "I knew that day would define you, my dear one. I knew that the pain would transform you if you would let it pass through you, over and across the endless sea. And it did. It still wasn't easy watching you suffer so. There was one moment when I thought you would drift away from me despite all my watchful care; I barely knew you, Anna, but I mourned you. You cannot imagine the joy I felt when you returned to me. That whole experience… I'll never forget it. To see you suffer so!" Her voice snagged on her words, and Anna's heart stuttered and bleated in response.

Before she could respond, Elsa continued. "That day was the day you chose me, Anna. My dearest, I cherish that memory so. Of all our many memories, I continue to hold that one so very dear. To finally have you want me there, to want me to serve you…"

"And then you had to leave me," Anna gently interrupted. "Elsa, can you even comprehend how I ached for you and for your loss? Oh, I couldn't speak of it at the time, but I felt it so deeply. My dear, even by that moment you were indelibly written into my heart, my life and my soul. Those ten days I had to spend without you… oh, Elsa, I sometimes think of those awful, empty days when I think of you leaving me when this is all over. Because you will. You must. Someday you will leave me. And I will miss you so." Anna's voice caught on the words, rendering them broken.

Elsa's eyes were wide and desolate. The sudden stark anguish she saw in Elsa's eyes wrenched deeply at Anna's heart. "My lady…" Elsa began to say, as if to soothe and calm her.

"Elsa, please do not attempt to deny the impact of your life on mine. Do not lessen your words or cheapen your invaluable service. Accept the fact that you are a gift and a joy to me. And if there were any way possible to keep you with me forever, I would." Anna couldn't quite believe that these particular words had slipped out of her mouth, but they were her truth, and had to be said.

Elsa's eyes were glistening and rapt in the transcendent light of the slowly dying aurora. Anna couldn't stop now, not with this celestial song blessing her words, lending her strength and courage for this most important conversation. "Elsa Wolff, you are like no one I have ever known. From the moment you brought me Turkish Delight and lopsided flowers I've been intrigued by you. Your knowledge is uncanny. Your service is impeccable. Your kindness is beyond comprehension. As I grew to know you, the more I wanted to know. Fear and short-sightedness got the best of me for a time, but no longer. I am whole now. And I crave your stories, Elsa. I crave your words. So I will do whatever it takes to earn your trust."

Even in this scant light Anna could see Elsa's throat working. When Elsa spoke, her words were barely above a whisper. "Anna, you are echoing the same sentiments as my dear Master. He often told me to be vulnerable, and in London he advised me to spill all the cesspools of my secrets and assault you with my truth. His choices of words, not mine. I used to be brave, a long time ago. I thought little of consequences when I forged the signature for your son's removal, but… oh, how I've paid for that one little decision. Other circumstances have similarly taught me caution. So much hardship, so much pain I couldn't bear it. Instead of wishing for death, as you did, I made myself a mountain instead. A mountain so strong nothing could assail it, nothing could topple it. Never again."

Elsa swallowed again, and then continued, "Honey, sometimes I think there is no hope for me. I never imagined that anyone else would ever look at me in interest and wonder again. Anna, do you really want to climb this mountain? Do you really wish to know my stories, my secrets? If you care for me at all, tell me the truth. Please."

Anna's heart ruptured on the plaintive and broken quality of Elsa's speech. She turned her upper body, fully ignoring the fading northern lights, and focused all her attention on the woman before her.

"I will tell you the truth, Elsa. From now on, I will always endeavour to tell you the truth. I do, my dear one. I want to climb the mountain. I have come to realize that you may have had to protect yourself in order to serve the way you do. But if you let me upon your mountain, if you let me come upon your sea, please know that I would never intentionally hurt you. Know that I would cherish you and support you, just as you have cherished and supported me for so long. Dearest, there is nothing that you could do or say that would change how I feel about you. There is no part of your past that I wouldn't try to understand, that I wouldn't celebrate. Somehow, every part of your past led you to me when I so greatly needed you. Remember those sparrows, Elsa."

Elsa stared at her. Then her entire body shivered, and Anna felt it.

And then she said something that Anna would hold inside her soul until the very end of her days.

"Surely God gave you to me, Anna Arendelle. You… you are my last best gift."

Anna felt those words sink deep inside, reverberating inside her as they descended into the depths of her memory, a treasure to hoard forever within the endless sea of her heart. Those words _clicked_ , like gossamer, like gloss, deep inside her now-aligned soul.

Elsa reached for Anna's hand and held it, saying, "Oh, sweetheart, I needed to hear those words. Anna, my dearest lady, in your words and in your voice I hear the words and voice of my beloved Master. His echo has proven divine; somehow his universe has touched your own. Thank you. Thank you so very much." Elsa punctuated her remarks by bringing Anna's hand to her lips, and then she kissed Anna's fingers with her cool lips.

Anna's heart fluttered. When Elsa continued to hold her hand and look at her, Anna dared to ask, "Be brave for me now, Elsa. Tell me something, anything about your life. Give me your edges, I promise I'll protect them."

Elsa nervously chuckled as she held Anna's hand close to her heart. The lights above them continued to dim, the curtains to fade back into the blackness from whence they came; their gifts had been received. Yet Elsa cast one last glance up into that glimmering sky as she said, "Help me, Anna. Ask me something. Ask me… anything." She glanced at Anna and repeated, "Anything you wish. And I will respond."

There was only one question that came to Anna's mind. She similarly looked up at the dim aurora to give some space to her companion, as she asked, "Forgive me, my dear, but I have found it hard to believe that someone as generous and loving as you is alone. Yet I have noticed that ring you bear on your finger. Were you married, Elsa?"

"No, I wasn't." There was a pause, and an indrawn breath. Elsa then continued, "But I was very near to it. As close as one could be, in fact."

"What was his name?" Anna gently asked.

Anna could feel Elsa's eyes on her, so she tilted her head to better look at her. There was a strange, desolate expression on Elsa's face that slowly morphed into deep resignation and sorrow. "Her name was Catriona. And I loved her more than life itself."

Anna heard the words, and then she understood them.

A golden arrow of anguish, heart-ache and empathy passed through Anna's heart. With that dangerous admission, so much more about Elsa became instantly clear.

Anna thought she could understand Elsa now, now that she knew the length and breadth of the mountain Elsa had constructed over her loves and sorrows. This one truth was immensely revealing; of course Elsa had kept this knowledge quiet, and not only for her loss that was apparent through her use of the past tense.

Silence followed her words, a silence weighted with caution, hope and fear. It seemed that Elsa hoped for the best while she mentally prepared herself for the worst.

Anna could only admire Elsa all the more. For saying that which was not easily said. For admitting something that, in other ears, could imprison her. For speaking truth when truth was required.

That canyon of Anna's heart cracked open even wider, and the endless sea of her affection for Elsa rushed in like a flood.

But silence breeds its own worries, and Elsa's face grew wary as the moments passed without Anna saying anything aloud. "Am I about to be fired, my lady?" she asked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Anna warmly chastised, coming fully out of her thoughts. "I would never fire you. Elsa, I owe you everything. My healing body, my sanity, even my very life. Do you remember how close to death I was when you came?"

Elsa slowly nodded her head.

"I could never repay the debt I owe to you," Anna continued, her voice soft but as implacable as forged steel. Elsa still looked partly unconvinced and guarded, so Anna squeezed her hand and said, "Now, I may be a Baroness, but I'm not unfamiliar with the ways of the world. I know this kind of love exists. I know it can't easily show its face. That doesn't make it any less real, or any less of a blessing to those who experience it. True love is hard to come by. I would know."

Elsa's eyes were reddened, but she smiled and said, "Thank you, Anna."

"Will you tell me about her? When you are ready?" Anna asked, somewhat astonished at the depth of her hunger for hearing this story.

"My Cati was once so deliciously plump and pretty, with roots as deep as the mountains are high. When she laughed, the world laughed with her. When she sang, she could charm the very birds from the sky. She had such a beautiful voice, so rich and earthy and warm. Her faith was so strong, right up until the very end. She rarely gave in to despair, though I often did."

"What happened to her, Elsa?"

"Catriona passed away two and a half years ago. She had the consumption, and died in my arms."

"Oh, Els," Anna breathed. The slightly shorter name came naturally to her lips, before she could even think of it.

Sudden joy transformed Elsa's wan face into something astonishing. "Els. She would call me that, from time to time. It brings me such joy to hear it on your lips as well. It's a name only the people closest to me get to use. That name is yours now, Anna. Just as I am yours."

Anna couldn't help but shiver as she heard Elsa say, _I am yours_. She wanted the words to be true. She wanted them to mean that Elsa would stay.

Another shiver flensed her muscles just a moment later, seeing as she was no longer tucked against Elsa's warm body. The sky had slowly gone completely dark, leaving only the bright wash of stars against the midnight bowl of the heavens. Elsa sighed. "It's time I got you back inside, Anna. We can't have you getting sick again."

Anna didn't protest; she had seen and experienced far more than she ever could have imagined that moment when Elsa first asked her to come outside a while ago.

Her senses were slightly swimming as Elsa bundled her back into the wheelchair, tucking some blankets about her body and legs and folding the others atop her lap. Then Elsa carefully wheeled her back to the resort. Anna's mind was that celestial river, as she flowed through all her recent thoughts, feelings, and revelations. She barely noticed as Elsa unlocked the resort door and wheeled them through dark empty hallways, nor how Elsa then let them into their private apartment. Elsa paused only long enough to shed her winter things before taking Anna right into her bedchamber.

As always, Elsa was careful and gentle in taking off Anna's winter clothes, peeling away the thermal clothes and heavy socks, and uncovering Anna until she was only in her shift. Elsa pulled a warmer sleeping robe over Anna's head, and tugged it down over her body. Finally she lifted Anna to put her in her bed. Anna immediately grasped the triangle bar and scooted until she was rested against the headboard of her bed.

When Elsa appeared ready to wheel the chair away and put everything back in its place, Anna grabbed her hand and bade her sit on the edge of the bed, next to Anna's waist. "My lady?" Elsa asked as she sat down.

Elsa was still so luminous, yet so frail. As if she had caught the light of the aurora in a net of shadows, and rubbed the entirety of her celestial treasure into the beloved planes of her skin, making her sparkle, making her gleam.

And Anna further perceived that Elsa was too much for this world; Elsa was somehow transparent and ephemeral, and perhaps as fleeting as the aurora itself. There was a chance Anna would not be able to keep her when this was all over, so she gladly focused on what she now had.

So she would not answer Elsa's query with mere words. Her heart was much too full for words. Some things had to transcend language, and this was one of them.

Instead, she leaned forward and wrapped both of her arms around her friend and closest companion, tucking Elsa as close to her body as was possible. Elsa immediately embraced her in return; her arms strong and tender across Anna's shoulder and back. Her breath was upon Anna's neck, and the pressure of her breasts was maddeningly beautiful.

In a sweet and quiet moment that stretched just like candy, just like gloss, Anna held Elsa for a second time, cherishing this woman who had become so beloved and essential. Elsa had become like breath, like food, like sunshine. Holding her so tightly in her arms was not just a passing desire, it was necessary. In holding her Anna could feel the rise and fall of Elsa's breath, the steady thrum of her faithful heart, and the sweet firmness of her chest.

Their endless seas to lap against each other, merging in exquisite harmony, in perfect bliss, for one brief moment in time.

The young soul that was Anna Arendelle wanted to weep for the beauty of it.

And when the moment felt just right, Anna pulled away. She looked at Elsa's transcendent face in the lamplight and knew that she had never known a woman more beautiful and wondrous. Anna held the knowledge of Catriona's existence in her hands, and to her it was like a fallen star from the very heavens, and one she could wish upon.

For Anna wanted something, nearly more than she had wanted anything in her life.

The desire and longing she had felt earlier this evening had returned, and intensified, now dancing and swooping inside her with all the awestruck majesty of the northern lights.

She would no longer deny it, for it came from her aurora-aligned soul. And nothing that came from that divine place could ever be denied.

 _Take courage, Anna_.

So she lifted one hand to touch Elsa's cool cheek, and saw how Elsa's cobalt blue eyes softened even further in acceptance.

But then Anna cupped that cheek and leaned forward, pressing her own lips firmly and deliberately against Elsa's soft and perfect mouth.

Elsa did not shy away from Anna's heartfelt kiss; she did not recoil in shock or in horror. There was a slim moment of surprise, yes, but then Elsa fully accepted the kiss by lifting her hand to hold Anna's neck as she pressed her lips back against Anna's.

And with this mute acceptance, with Elsa's blind faith and absolute trust, a deep pit yawned open somewhere between Anna's heart and spine, vibrating against a place that only Hans had ever even glimpsed. Anna knew this place well, knew how deep the longing was, how great the desire.

And it was too much to bear. It scraped up against her losses, her ancient fractured dreams and punctured hopes. Anna kissed this wonderfully willing Elsa only a moment longer, but that extra moment wounded her far more than Elsa could ever know.

Moving gently, so as not to startle or frighten her companion, Anna pulled her lips away. A heartbeat later, she released Elsa's face, and felt Elsa's hand fall away from her neck.

Anna looked deeply into Elsa's eyes for some sign of what her sudden audacity and unexpected kiss had meant to her therapist.

Elsa's eyes were still full of aurora-dust, and her face was a masterpiece of pure joy and trust. If there had been any fear in Anna's heart that this sudden gift of a kiss could be misconstrued, that fear fled in the clear and thankful gaze of the woman before her.

"Dream the sweetest dreams imaginable, Elsa," Anna whispered into the sacred space between them.

"My dearest heart," Elsa softly replied, "tonight I will."

..

 **Author's Note:** My dear readers, I am so pleased to finally share this chapter with you. I've known it was coming for a while now. I hope it has brought you even a fraction of the joy I felt while writing it. If you can share your thoughts with me, I would appreciate them. - Jen


	17. Chapter 17 - Stitches Part One

**Chapter Seventeen**

 **Stitches (Part One of Two)**

Anna woke the next morning softly and gently, like a flower opening to the warmth of the sun. Upon waking she stretched a little, delighting in her toes, feeling her dreams evaporate; they had once again featured Elsa in somewhat scandalous ways that Anna dared not think about. Anna was tempted to grasp after the dreams, but with another breath she let them go, for she had memories to revisit of the night before.

Exhausted as she had been, Anna had fallen asleep quickly, and slept deeply. Now, in the golden light of a new dawn, she could think back on the experiences of the night before and anchor them even more firmly into the spiralling galaxy of her mind. There to grace her inner universe with constellations most wondrous and dear so that a future Anna would easily be able to close her eyes, see those constellations, and remember.

Remember how it felt to lay against a warm and curvy body and yet feel the cool nip of air, and also feel the pressure of an arm holding her tightly in place. Remember looking up into the sky and feeling a sense of utter connection and completion, as her ancient wound was unexpectedly healed. Remember words she had spoken, truths she had uncovered, as her now-aligned soul finally dared ask the question that had been plaguing her for so long. The knowledge of Catriona then came, along with a fresh flood of understanding and empathy for Elsa and her loss.

Later, she had held Elsa so close to her, in what could not be labeled merely a hug. The long, tender embrace they had shared had done something magnificent to Anna, made her a more daring creature than ever before.

For Anna had also kissed Elsa's pliant lips.

And been kissed back.

Her therapist's response had been undeniable; she had held Anna's neck, and she had kissed Anna back.

It meant that Anna felt slightly nervous about encountering Elsa this morning. What did Elsa think of what had happened the night before? Would she regret spilling her secret, would she regret being kissed? Anna hoped for quiet time later in the day to find the answers to these questions.

As she finished stretching and waking up, Anna could hear sounds of movement from the lounge; Kate would have been here and gone already, refreshing the fires and filling the jugs with water. So it must be Elsa in the other room. Anna really wanted to see Elsa again, if only to convince herself that last night hadn't been a dream.

The soft knock soon came on Anna's door, and she called out, "Come in, Elsa." Elsa opened the door and entered Anna's bedchamber with a smile, but Anna could immediately perceive that Elsa still seemed tired; there was a faint hint of darkness under her eyes, and the light that perpetually shone from her seemed a trifle dimmer than usual.

"Good morning, Anna," Elsa said as she came into the room, her voice quieter than usual, near pensive. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm quite well this morning. I slept like a beautiful stone. How are you, Elsa?"

"Strangely tired, if I'm to be honest."

"Did you not sleep well?"

"Once I fell asleep, yes. It took me some time, though, to quiet my mind enough for sleeping. I had a lot to contemplate." Elsa smiled as she sat down next to Anna's bed. Carefully, Anna noticed, and with a sigh. "Once again, you have graced me with memories that will last for the rest of my life. What a magical evening, Anna." Her words were warm, yet her voice was thin. Oh, what was ailing her?

"I'm so very glad you instigated it," Anna replied. "I want you to feel welcome to share your thoughts with me, whenever you're ready, but I may need a bit more time to think about all we shared. "

"Time, we have. We also have a pool waiting for us." Elsa quickly outlined her ideas for the rehabilitation of the day, including time in the big pool both in the morning and after luncheon, a walk outside, should the weather permit, and some stretching and massage later on. Anna readily agreed to it all.

But before Elsa could rise and assist Anna with bathing, Anna asked, "Does anything else ail you, Elsa? You seem rather… troubled this morning."

"It's my back," Elsa admitted, though her voice was small, as if she were embarrassed to be seen as a normal human being. "It feels a bit like… like corrugated iron."

Anna wrinkled her nose at the astuteness of the metaphor. "I meant what I said yesterday, Elsa. You can show me a few basic techniques of how to rub your back. I would love to provide you with even a smidgeon of ease."

"Even a smidgeon would be helpful," Elsa admitted. "Also some time in the hot pool would be quite soothing."

"I may have to tell you this multiple times, it seems, but this is your home, Elsa. And as much as I wish I could read your mind, I cannot. Please, you need to tell me sometimes what you need, and what you want, because I should surely like to give it to you. Time in the hot pool, definitely. A back rub later, yes. Please don't suffer in silence. Complain to me as you would complain to a dear friend. I beg you."

"It may take time to scrub out these old boundaries in my mind," Elsa said. "Thank you for being so blunt. I will try, Anna. Truly. I will try."

"That's all I ask."

The morning began with a spinal adjustment and some yoga before eating a light breakfast. Then they changed into their bathing costumes and went to the big pool. Anna slipped into the pool with barely restrained delight, for the cool temperature was so soothing to her now, and she wanted to see if they could trick her legs into working again. They spent a couple hours in the pool, meditating and swimming and floating. Her legs still weren't working, but Anna did not feel frustrated. There was time for this, for her true rehabilitation. Today she simply enjoyed every passing moment, especially how slick and cool the water felt on her legs. She remembered how it had been when her legs had felt nothing at all. The pool was busy today with several others, so Anna and Elsa had to change their course often.

Sometimes Anna would look sideways at Elsa, and remember how it had felt to lay next to her, to feel her protective warmth all along the length of her body, her hand so firm against Anna's waist, her breath warm in Anna's ear.

Her lips, how soft they had been, how giving, and tender.

But then the present moment would intrude on her thoughts as Elsa asked her to try this or do that. As they neared the end of their session, Elsa brought her to the shallower end of the pool and stood with her in the middle. The water was up to their elbows. "Give me your hands," Elsa quietly commanded, and Anna complied. "Let your legs float down, down until you feel the base of the pool against your feet. Now lean back on your heels and… stand. Just stand. Feel the bottom of the pool against the soles of your feet. Close your eyes honey, and just stand."

Anna closed her eyes and stood there. Elsa held her hands, providing her with some stability, taking the pressure off of Anna's still rebellious knees. Anna loved being able to feel the gritty bottom of the pool against the soles of her feet, still such an exotic sensation! For long moments she simply stood there, holding Elsa's hands.

"Now. Whenever you are ready, you may open your eyes." Anna breathed a heartbeat or two longer, and then opened them. Elsa's caring face was so close to hers. "I'm going to take one hand away. Send your presence down your legs, into your feet. Make them swell with gravity."

Anna did so, sending her mind down her legs to fill her feet with gravity. Elsa now held only one of her hands. "My lady, you may let go of my hand, as you wish. And you may stand. On your own two feet."

Her heart thumping, Anna slowly released Elsa's hand.

And stood on her own two feet, just there in the cool water. Her eyes were fixated on Elsa, and she extended her hands to float on the skin of the water, for balance. Anna could feel the glorious pressure of her upper body on her knees, her ankles, her feet. When the other lady in the pool used the ladder to exit, the water currents caused her hips to shift, and her toes immediately compensated for it, just like good toes should, keeping her standing upright in the water.

Then it hit her. She was standing, on her feet, without assistance, for the first time since the accident. A smile dawned on her face. "I'm standing, Elsa," she said.

"Yes, you are, my dear. How does it feel?"

"Amazing."

"That's my girl. Now. Walk to me."

Anna had become accustomed to obeying Elsa's orders. She didn't even stop to think about it. She simply bent her knee.

The shock of her knee actually bending at her command took her completely by surprise; she floundered in the water, nearly disappearing under the surface before Elsa rescued her, grabbing her arms and stabilizing her once again. "What just happened?" Elsa asked.

"My knee bent! I actually bent my knee! Let's try it again, Elsa."

Elsa calmed her, and stood with her, and had her focus again on her feet. Though Anna kept her eyes open, she was not aware of anything save her feet. How her toes gripped the bottom of the pool, and how her heels felt the small imperfections in the cement. How beautiful and marvellous her feet were!

"Let go," Anna whispered.

Elsa did.

Once again Anna stood on her own, her hands out and caressing the surface of the water. She allowed her eyes to close, and focused fully on the water that surrounded her, the currents that moved her, and how her legs and feet compensated for that movement.

Time slipped by.

"Talk to me, my lady," Elsa whispered some time later.

"I'm congratulating my feet," Anna replied. "My beautiful, wonderful feet. My amazing, fantastic legs. The golden web of my nerves. We are whole. We are one. Walking will come."

"Yes. Yes, it will."

"Command me, Elsa."

Elsa didn't need to ask for clarification; she instantly divined Anna's true intent. She felt Elsa take a step, and then two, away from her. "Come to me, Anna," Elsa commanded, her voice pitched low for her use of Anna's true name.

Anna bent her other knee as she prepared to take a step.

And floundered once again, actually disappearing this time under the surface of the water before Elsa could return to her and rescue her. Sputtering, Anna felt Elsa hold her arms and stabilize her once more. Anna used one hand to wipe the water away from her face, smiling all the while. Then she stood on her feet and slowly, deliberately, bent each of her knees in turn, lifting them from the base of the pool before putting them back down again. Beaming, she looked at Elsa and said, "My knees have returned."

"Yes, they have," Elsa replied as she reached out to take a tendril of wet hair and tuck it behind Anna's ear. Was that a tiny caress she also placed upon Anna's jaw? Anna couldn't quite tell. "My audacious girl," she said quietly.

Anna stood there, holding Elsa's hand, and was disappointed when her stomach yowled at her. She realized that her whole body was trembling with exhaustion. Elsa smiled to hear Anna's tummy make such a racket. "I don't want to leave," Anna said. "This is the only place where I can stand."

"For now. Just think of how far you've come." Elsa's voice was quiet, as it had been all morning. Anna looked at her, the paleness of the face above that beloved neck, the wet tendrils of hair that hung by Elsa's ears, and she felt another great squeeze of her heart as she remembered Elsa's arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

They both retreated for a while to the cave, to immerse themselves in the slightly sulphurous scented steaming water; so soothing to their spirits and their muscles. They stayed there for a time, in silence, in companionship. Anna closed her eyes and almost dozed, wanting to give Elsa as much time as she needed in this pool for her aching back. From time to time she bent her knees and her ankles and curled her toes, just because she could.

Her thoughts lazy and drifting always to the events of the night before, something Elsa had said came back to her mind, about the consequences of her forgery in saving the life of Anna's son. Anna resolved to ask Elsa about it in privacy, later on.

Some time later, Elsa sighed softly and then smiled at Anna, saying she was ready to go. Anna agreed, for her stomach seemed to be scraping against her spine. Elsa bundled her up warmly in robes and took her back to their chambers, to wash her and dress her in preparation for lunch in the Great Hall. They separated then, according to class, to eat their meals. Anna forced herself to focus on her peers, on providing conversation, and tempered each errant thought that drifted in Elsa's direction.

After the meal was finished, the residents began to disperse, and Elsa retrieved Anna to take her back to their apartment. "My apologies, my lady," Elsa said after settling Anna on the couch, "but I've been asked to see to one of the staff who has had a troubling backache. With your permission, I'll go now and see to him. It shouldn't take me more than an hour. If you wish, I'll take you to the library or to someone else's quarters for entertainment."

"By all means, go and help him," Anna replied. "And you can leave me here for the time being. Perhaps just bring me my book and my letters, and I'll enjoy some quiet time to myself." Elsa fetched Anna's things, made sure the blanket was tucked close and that water was within reach. Then she went into her bedroom to grab her kit, smiled one last time at her lady, and disappeared.

Anna pretended to read her book for a little while and then she set it down. She looked into the warmly crackling flames of the fire in the grate before her and began to think. With Elsa's absence, she had space and time to open her thoughts for further contemplation, without the fear of distraction. Elsa's presence was most certainly distracting, so now she could settle down and give her thoughts proper justice.

Once again, the first thing that stole into her mind was the kiss they had shared. No small wonder there; it had been constantly on Anna's mind.

It had been so wonderful and so strange to kiss someone again, and a woman, no less. Elsa's lips, they had been so soft, so feminine and warm. The whole experience now felt so brief, yet so incredibly lovely. Anna had responded to the very depths of her unified soul when she had kissed Elsa, and this deep, primal part of her heart knew that she wanted to kiss Elsa again. Yes, she wanted to kiss her at least one more time, and this time she would not taint the kiss with her personal despair. She would allow herself to really feel it, to lean into the entire experience, and welcome all the joy and pain that such a kiss would bring.

There was a wild scraping sensation along her spine and near her heart, as she thought about such a kiss, and as she considered Elsa's possible response. Surely Elsa wouldn't mind being kissed at least once more! Anna was not Catriona, but still...

But then a strange, metallic voice somehow whispered in her ear, the shadow voice of the Baroness Skaldenfoss. _Such things are not for you,_ the voice said, _such things can never be for you. You are a widow. You are a mother, and a grandmother. Above all, you are a Baroness. These things cannot change. This is_ _who you are._

Anna closed her eyes as her heart wrenched in hurt. That voice continued to speak, _Your life is bounded, you must accept it. Shut away this desire, it is not permitted. You kissed her once, but you can_ _never_ _kiss her again._

Anna knew that the kiss last night had been the fault of the aurora and of Elsa's confession, compounded by Anna's months, nay years, of loneliness. Could that terrible voice be telling her the truth? Was it really so wrong to have this one, simple desire?

Yes. Because deep down, Anna knew she wanted more. And more, she could not have.

Anna felt a small portion of her heart tear apart in her resulting anguish. It sifted down her chest with edges of obsidian, wounding her with every turn.

All she wanted was a kiss, and even in this she would be denied. Anna had told the truth the night before when she said that true love was hard to come by. She had only grasped the edges of it with Hans. The depths of true love were denied to her for all the years of her marriage, obscured by hurtful words and shallow confidences, as well as infidelity and contention. Anna had done her duty to her family, her community, and her country for all the days of her life, yet in so doing had been forced to deny her own heart and soul.

And all of those years were gone, carried away on the tides of the sea, never to return again.

And now? Now she felt it was too late. Far too late to change anything.

Her resulting grief was a heavy cloak, thrown over the sputtering light of her once-courageous heart. The truth was suffocating. She was a Baroness. This was her life. She hadn't entirely chosen it, but it was still hers. True grace was in acceptance, just as her father had taught her. She would only suffer more if she gave in to these fantasies, if she imagined experiences she simply could not have.

So Anna took this desire, this longing to kiss Elsa one more time, and gently pressed it into a stout chest in her mind, and wrapped chains around it, locking it away.

She took a deep breath and then opened her eyes. She rubbed them, quickly, and then focused on her letters. Christmas was coming, and she had arrangements to make with Lily, and with her daughter, Ingrid.

The hour passed swiftly, with such ruthless diversion. She was sealing the letter to Lily when she heard the sound of keys in the lock. Her heart gave a squeeze and she shook it away as she turned her head to see Elsa coming through the door.

Elsa's eyes immediately sought hers. The moment their eyes touched, Anna knew she could not hide her inner pain and torment; Elsa's eyes narrowed as she took in Anna's slightly slumped aspect. "Are you all right?" she asked as she locked the door again behind her and came into the room, her kit slung over her elbow.

"Yes and no," Anna replied. "But I shan't bore you with it. How is the man you tended?"

"I rubbed him down and gave him a very small adjustment, all his body was capable of receiving. I shall visit him several times in the next few days. Anna, you may speak or you may be silent, but never use the word 'bore' again with me." Elsa's voice was most definitely flinty as she said these words, coming into the room to sit on the couch next to Anna. "Everything you say has value to me, and your company has never been, indeed could never be boring."

Anna felt yet another great swell of sorrow block her throat at Elsa's heartfelt words. The expression on her face must have been quite revealing, for Elsa's own face began to change and soften. "Anna, we're new at being friends. I want to support you, and give you comfort, if it's possible. Would… would you like to talk about whatever is troubling you?"

"If I may start with a question," Anna replied, her voice timid.

"Anything, sweetie."

"We've had some time now to think about what happened last night. Could you… could you share some of your thoughts with me?"

"I would love to. Anna, honey, give me five minutes to freshen up and fetch something. We could probably do with a cuppa as well, so I'll make some tea. Can I get you anything?"

"Tea sounds nice."

Anna fidgeted with her letters as Elsa stoked the fire and set the pot on the hob for boiling water. Then she took her kit and disappeared into her bedroom for a few minutes. She soon returned, with an old book in her hands. Anna watched in silence as Elsa poured her own mixture of herbs into the tea pot and set it to steep.

Finally Elsa sat down again on the couch, tucking her knee under her leg and furling a blanket over her; the air in the apartment was slightly chilly, even with the fire burning. Anna shifted as much as she could in her own seat, so she could face Elsa.

"It's hard to know where to begin," Elsa said a moment later. "Yesterday was one of the most amazing days I've ever had in my life. From my birthday ride to watching the aurora with you, every moment of it was imbued with magic and wonder. Having you there with me, as we watched the aurora together; I had hoped I wasn't being too bold in laying down with you, but it brought me such comfort to have you so near."

"It comforted me as well," Anna responded. "I have gone many years without experiencing such friendship and intimacy."

Elsa nodded in acceptance of Anna's words. "I have also been pondering the words you spoke last night, your thoughts about the endless sea that resides in each of us. Your truth was somewhat blinding. And to hear your vow of support, to hear that you wanted to climb the mountain I've made of me… I needed those words, for I've been wanting to tell you about Catriona for some time now." Elsa sighed as she rose long enough to pour them both cups of tea. Anna held her steaming cup in her hands, for it was soothing to her.

Staying quiet, she waited until Elsa began to speak again. "Oh, Anna, I was so nervous about sharing Catriona with you. Cati is part of my truth, part of my soul, but I couldn't be sure that you could accept this knowledge of me. What if you had rejected me? What if you had dismissed me from your service?"

Anna reached out to touch, and hold, Elsa's knee. "I'm honoured to be the recipient of this knowledge, and honoured to be graced with such trust." Anna then retreated once more, to hold her cup of tea in both her hands.

Elsa breathed, and quieted, and graced Anna with a small smile. "Since speaking of her last night, she has been much on my mind. And in thinking of her, I am so pleased to find joy in my memories, and not so much of the pain I've been hiding from."

Elsa took a sip of her own tea, noticed that Anna stayed quiet, and continued, "I also want to thank you for your understanding and lack of judgment concerning my love for her. A day will come when such love can be celebrated openly, but that day is far away. I can't express how it eased my mind to know that you listened to me, and seemed to accept this part of me, this part I have been forced to keep secret for so long."

Anna automatically thought of the tulips by the boarding school, and the scent of Ingrid's hair. "I meant what I said last night, Elsa. You can trust me to protect and honour your stories as I protect and honour my own."

"I understand that now, and I'm incredibly grateful," Elsa said. "And I don't want to belabour this point, or appear obtuse, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that you are so interested about my life. My stories, my… edges. Oh, I'm probably not going to say this right, but I will try to say it nonetheless." Elsa took a deep breath and continued, "We've become close, Anna. We've connected, but it is part of my nature and part of my work to connect deeply with my patients. I have served many others the same way I serve you. Part of the success of my techniques is building this deep sense of connection and trust, and bonding with my patients."

Elsa's face suddenly brightened in thought. "You remember your stitches, Anna, in the surgeries after your accident? How they held your edges together until you healed enough and then they were removed? In my mind, I am just like those stitches. It is my job to connect the disparate parts of you, as deep and strong and necessary as stitches. And just like stitches, I am merely part of the treatment process; I have a job to do, and a limited amount of time to do it in. Until recently, I believed that, when the time came, I could be plucked from your life just like stitches, and you would scarcely notice. Indeed, you would celebrate the fact that you could now live life without me."

Anna opened her mouth to vehemently protest, but Elsa continued, her voice slightly wild again. "But apparently I was deluding myself, and overly protecting myself once again. You are unlike anyone I have ever served. I was foolish to think of you as just another patient, as just edges I needed to hold together. And I was similarly foolish to shut you and your influence away, to ignore the fact that you are more than your wounds, you are more than your accident. Foolish to try and deny the blessing that you would bring to my life, if only I had the courage to let you in. So thank god for your persistence, Anna, and for your curiosity."

Elsa's flood of tortured words came to a sudden halt. She stared at Anna, and then turned her head to sip her tea.

When she did not continue, Anna did. "I understand why you protected yourself, and why you kept this story secret. What you told me about Catriona simply cannot be shared with just anyone, and we both know it." Anna smiled, so grateful to be having this honest conversation. "Stitches are a beautiful analogy, Els. I needed your stitches. I needed you to help me repair the fractured parts of my spirit, of my life. I don't think an English or Norwegian or any other word has been invented for what you truly are, and what you mean to me. You are infinitely more than stitches. And when you are plucked from my life, I will notice. Oh, sweetheart, I will notice." Her voice broke a little as she repeated this last sentiment, and Elsa's eyes widened slightly.

Before Elsa could speak, and wound Anna with her compassion, Anna withdrew her hand and said; "I see you've brought something with you. Something to show me?"

Elsa's expression was still intent and slightly quizzical, but her conditioning took over and she turned over the book on her lap. "This is the Bhagavad Gita," Elsa said. "A copy given to me by my old Master. A religious text, also known as The Celestial Song. I have been much remiss in my studies, in my journey of renunciation." Then she pulled a photograph out from the middle of the book. "And this is a picture of my Cati and I."

Elsa held out the naked, unframed photo, and Anna took it in sighing, expectant hands. She had dearly wanted to see a picture of the woman who had such a strong and eternal place in Elsa's heart; Anna hadn't even had to express this desire aloud and yet it had been fulfilled.

The corners were rounded, the colours of sepia and brown, the edges slightly frayed with time. Anna's eyes went first to her nurse, standing behind a chair. Anna had no idea when exactly the picture had been taken, but she could see that Elsa looked slightly younger. What struck Anna most was the special light that beamed through Elsa's eyes, for she stood protectively close to her companion, seated there on a chair before her.

Then Anna's eyes were fixated on Cati. Though Elsa had described her as once being deliciously plump, it was obvious that the Catriona in the picture was ill. She was wasted in skin, her clothes slightly loose, her cheekbones and collarbones prominent. But somehow the camera had captured this woman's vital essence, and Anna glimpsed the fire of faith that steadily burned inside the obviously younger woman.

Anna softly traced both their faces with her finger, her heart aching for Elsa's loss, and for her own. When she looked up again, she saw Elsa's eyes gleaming. "She looks so very lovely, Elsa. When and where was the picture taken?"

"In Reims, just before we began our trek to India. That would have been late summer of 1918." Elsa paused, and then she asked, her voice tentative, "Would you like to hear some of our story?" In the spaces between the words, Anna once again heard her begging Anna to be honest.

It was easy to answer honestly. "Yes, I would."

Elsa refreshed their tea and then leaned back, her entire aspect filled with contemplation. "I believe I have mentioned the primroses, Anna."

"Yes, you have. You said they were upon the mountains, near the monastery."

"That's where I took her, after she fell ill. After I found her again."

Anna could actually hear the broken-hearted joy in Elsa's voice as she began to tell the tale.

Elsa felt far removed from the world, living and serving in India in the years leading up to the war. When the news came to them of the troubles in Europe, India, as a British Colony, also had its roles to play. But little of that affected this village and its monastery, far to the north and in the mountains. "I had just turned forty years old," Elsa explained, "and I thought that this would be my life. One of solitude and service, never to be blessed with romantic love and partnership. Sometimes I would ache for it, but I told myself to be content with what I had. Part of my path of renunciation was burning this desire on the altar of my faith."

Two years later, her Master summoned her and shared news that he had received about the war. They spoke of the quality of her work and the depth of her skill and he reminded her about the long dialogue between Arjuna and Krishna in the Gita. "He reminded me of my obligation to understand and perform my duty. In no way to condone war, but to use my talents and knowledge to ease suffering."

So Elsa went to the war, arriving in France in late 1916. She joined thousands of other young women who formed the Voluntary Aid Detachment, and served as part of the army corps. Elsa was assigned to the Fifth Army, under the command of General Gough, and began to work. The war already seemed never ending. The hospital tents were blackened with dirt and smoke, and stained with the blood of their own soldiers. The first few months were the hardest, as she accustomed herself to the nature of field work, and agonized over the suffering she witnessed on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. Elsa had to use every ounce of her training and skill, as well as her long efforts in meditation and awareness, in order to maintain serenity and sanity.

She rose through the ranks quickly, and within eight months was assigned as the Head Nurse at her particular hospital, taking charge of all the other women who were part of the VAD. It was there, in one of her daily briefings with her nurses, that Elsa was introduced to Catriona Murphy. "There was something about her that I instantly liked," Elsa reminisced. "She had an aura of competence and warmth, and, though not professionally trained in nursing, she was incredibly steady. As I got to know her better, I sometimes thought of her feet as being able to root themselves no matter where she went or what she was doing. She became my most trusted assistant in difficult situations, calming and soothing men who were about to lose an arm or a leg or face painful surgery. It didn't take long for me to become infatuated with her, though I hid my feelings for fear of rejection. I cared not for the fact that she was eight years my junior; war was a great equalizer, after all."

"So my son also believed," Anna said, "when he wrote me concerning his sudden marriage to the third daughter of a tenant farmer near Reims. Go on, Elsa."

They began spending a lot of time together in the tents, and Elsa heard Catriona's story. She was the daughter of an Irish shop-keeper, who had volunteered early to join the war. Cati was supposed to stay home and help her mother mind the shop, but she had never been as close to her mother as she had been to her father; her mother only had sharp words for her, about how Cati would never find a man to marry and would be a dependent spinster for the rest of her life. Catriona soon slipped away from the country in her father's wake, received basic nursing training in London, and then was shipped overseas.

"I no longer believed in coincidence," Elsa said, shifting slightly in her seat. "Catriona became the light and joy of my life. I felt so blessed to know her, to have her in my life, even just as my friend. I began to think that perhaps she was the reason I went to war. She embodied my new meditation; to accept life as it was and I should not beg for more. Though I wanted more from her, much more, and dearly." There was a slight blush on Elsa's cheeks, making her appear so womanly.

Anna couldn't rip her eyes away from her therapist; she was rapt, meek, and silent, not doing or saying anything to halt this sudden waterfall of story. That yearning in her heart was pulsing as strong as earlier; some part of Anna wished she could step into Catriona's shoes, and be this particular object of Elsa's desire. Oh yes, she wanted more from Elsa, much more, and dearly.

Yet Elsa's most recent words pounded and throbbed in her heart; _I should give thanks for all I have and not beg for more!_

One summer night in 1917, both women were exhausted from their labours, and smoked a cigarette together behind the hospital tent as they caught their first breath in hours. The sky glowed orange in the distance, over the trenches, as some poor French town burned. They passed the cigarette back and forth, in silence, until it was extinguished. But then the clouds suddenly thinned and out shone a brilliant moon just near full, brilliant and white. "How strange and wonderful it is," Catriona said, "that there can be beauty even here, in moments as fleeting and ephemeral as those clouds lost in a sea of black." Catriona then lifted her hand to touch and caress Elsa's face. "Despite the war, I see beauty everywhere. I see it, right here," she whispered. And she leaned forward and kissed Elsa, thoroughly and beautifully, on her lips.

Here, Elsa briefly paused, her cheeks still so prettily coloured, and she asked, "Anna, I have no desire to make you uncomfortable. Is this too much information for you?"

"No, dear Elsa. Your story is a beautiful one. Please continue as you wish."

Other kisses they had, always in private, always in secret, always fearing discovery. How strange it was for their love to blossom in a place such as this, filled with blood and bile and excrement, with the screams of the wounded and the constant sound of artillery from the front. How strange it was to experience the beauty of love, even here.

For beauty appeared from the chaos of sound and the madness of illness and death, as unexpected as the daisies and wildflowers that dared to grow in the churned-over fields of France. Beauty as cherished as a sudden calm sunset, all soft and fuzzy like the skin of a peach. Perhaps that is why it made so much sense, this friendship that turned into love, here in this place where compassion and devotion were prized so highly.

"Yet several months passed before Cati and I were able to slip away, to experience each other as lovers." Elsa sighed, her eyes distant. "Making love with her changed our relationship in profound ways. In learning about her and loving her, I learned and loved even more of myself. Our trust in each other was unshakeable. We began to plan a future together, after the war."

Anna's mouth had gone dry, and as she heard these words she wondered just how women made love to each other. But then she focused entirely on Elsa's words, ignoring the low ache that was pulsing deep in her body.

For Elsa's words became slower, heavier, as she continued the next part of her story.

Early winter came, with chill winds and stinging rain and an epidemic of influenza began to rage throughout the tents. Catriona started coughing. For several weeks she suffered, working as much as she could to assist others. She lost her appetite, and weight began falling from her bones. Then she coughed up blood. "Imagine our horror when the doctor confirmed the diagnosis," Elsa whispered. "Cati had contracted consumption, from which there is no cure."

For several months, as winter continued, Cati was permitted to stay with the Fifth Army, working as she could, wearing a mask over her face. There was so much work to do, for the wounded kept arriving in droves, losing eyes, losing limbs, losing their sanity and their hope in the universe.

As winter came to an end and Cati's condition worsened, they had a decision to make. They could desert together, run away from the army and get treatment for Catriona's illness. Or Elsa could stay, and let Cati go away to the sanatorium on her own, facing an unknown length of time apart. Would the war ever end?

It was now March of 1918.

Elsa paused in her narration as she mentioned the dire date, and looked into Anna's eyes.

Anna had been spellbound by the story, but both the date and Elsa's gaze brought her into sharp and visceral focus.

She had been given a piece of this story already. Leif in Elsa's tent one midnight, showing her pictures and speaking of his family. The Spring Offensive; Elsa sewing his arteries together as his legs were amputated. Elsa forging orders to get him home.

Now Anna knew that Catriona had been part of this fell mixture there were innumerable additional layers of love and pain and heartache in this story. As the silence lengthened, and Elsa seemed unable to speak, Anna said, "Don't stop, Elsa. Pull it all out, it will feel better."

A silent entreaty formed in Elsa's eyes, and Anna impulsively reached over to grasp and hold Elsa's nearest hand. Elsa's beloved face was shadowed with remembered horror, littered with dire memory. Oh, how Anna wished she could somehow take away this pain, this mental agony, for both of their sakes!

When Elsa still could not speak, Anna gently commanded, "Let it pass through you, honey. Don't fight it, don't hide from it. Take me with you to the other side."

Elsa's fingers were warm as she allowed Anna to hold her hand. Then Elsa turned her head and began to speak, unable to meet Anna's concerned gaze. "You know some of this already. How I met your son, Leif. How I helped amputate his legs. What you don't know is this…"

It was called Operation Michael, this particular part of the Spring Offensive by the German army. In the very first day, German artillery shelled a target area of more than 150 square miles. That was the day Leif was injured and brought into Elsa's tent. That was the day she helped amputate his legs, helped save his life. The very next day the trucks came through. In one chaotic moment, Elsa forged a signature that would hopefully see Leif evacuated all the way back to Norway. He was conscious, and Elsa thought he saw what she had done on his behalf.

Someone else must have seen it as well, for later that evening she was summoned to the commander's tents and officially reprimanded. She was placed under conditional arrest, and was scheduled to have a hearing in three or four days.

Anna's heart trembled; she waited to hear what had been the repercussion for Elsa's kindness, Elsa's crime.

But then the story unfolded, in a way that Anna could never have imagined. Not in her worst nightmares.

By evening the very next day, all hell had descended upon the Fifth Army, as German stormtroopers broke through their front lines. The entire army was ordered into a retreat. Catriona went with the first detachment of trucks in the direction of Reims. They had no chance to say goodbye to each other, for Elsa was still under arrest, and kept in other quarters. Tents were struck, supplies loaded into vehicles, anything that could be left behind was abandoned. The injured men were loaded onto anything that could carry them. The sounds of the battle were all around them, and for the first time in a very long time, Elsa felt pure terror.

Then the unthinkable actually happened.

"Shells struck our fleeing camp just as we were packing up the tents," Elsa whispered, her voice heavy and low. "They rained hellfire on us, who were bringing up the retreat. One hit the tent next to me."

Horses screamed in tandem with the men. There was the smell of burning flesh, and the moment Elsa realized it was her own. She screamed as the soldiers worked to rescue her and the other wounded, for she was trapped underneath a burning ridgepole, and pieces of shrapnel had pierced her lower back. Her leg, the same one she had broken in India ages ago, had snapped again.

Anna gasped as the import of Elsa's words struck her; words stark and honed like knives, and just like knives they clove apart Anna's perceptions.

Elsa forged the signature for Leif. Elsa was then arrested. Because of that, she was caught in this horrifying strike. If she hadn't forged that signature, she would have escaped along with Catriona. Anna's eyes filled with tears as she took Elsa's hand with both of her own. "Oh, my dear God, Elsa…"

"I woke up in an unfamiliar place nearly two days later. There were so many wounded, Anna, and not enough supplies and painkiller for all of us. My lower back was riddled with burns, and there were stitches across the hole where the shrapnel had been. My broken leg had been set and bound. I was left there to my agony. The doctor came, my doctor, the one I had worked with for so long. He forgave me my forgery and expressed his sincere regret at my injuries, especially that he had been forced to remove my kidney, for it had been damaged beyond salvation. Luckily, the burns were not as serious as he had first supposed, and the break in my leg had been a clean one. In some respects, I should count myself lucky."

Anna shook her head, removing her hand only long enough to wipe away her tears. The ocean of her heart was rising with pity and love. She desperately wanted to lean forward and hold Elsa, just as she had done the night before; she wanted to wrap her arms about her companion and then, maybe then her hands could drift low enough on Elsa's back to touch and honour her scars.

But in this moment she daren't hold her or comfort her, even with the love in her heart that blinded her with light and goodness. All that Anna could do was support her, for Elsa needed to finish this story. So Anna continued to hold Elsa's hand, holding it with as much affection as she could muster, providing Elsa with an anchor of touch in this strange and beautifully chaotic world. She held Elsa's hand and thought of Leif and Helene's arrival home to Iskall Slott.

Anna had never known, never even questioned the circumstances of her son's return. She had only seen the stumps of his legs, the burns on his face, and never did she perceive kindness or hope. She had only misery and despair as the sepsis took root in him, even though he himself had told her otherwise.

 _I am glad to witness kindness,_ he had said. _I am here because of it._

"The doctor left me then, to my suffering and my despair," Elsa slowly continued. "My thought was constantly upon my Cati. Word was slow in coming to us about those who managed to retreat. What we eventually discovered was that the same offensive had affected the line of retreating trucks; transports were overturned, craters made by exploding ordinance, and the dead were left to rot by the side of the road as the survivors ran away as fast as they could. Desperate for news, I asked about Catriona Murphy. And no one knew where she was, or what had happened to her. It was like she simply disappeared."

Elsa's voice broke as she spoke these words, and Anna's torn heart expanded in pity and devotion.

Oh, the agony that Elsa must have experienced, fearing for the woman she so loved!

The days slowly passed, and Elsa slowly healed, though the pain was sometimes so great she thought she would vibrate to pieces because of it. "I was never so angry in my life," Elsa admitted. "Angry at the universe, angry at my god, once again sentenced to misery and torment the likes of which most people never experience even once in their lifetime. And still Catriona Murphy could not be found."

Elsa's narration came to a thick and troubled halt. Anna watched as Elsa reached for her tea, surely now stone cold, and gulped the rest of it down.

And when Elsa did not resume speaking, Anna asked, "Can you not continue, Elsa? What happened next? How did you find her?"

Finally Elsa looked at her again, and her beloved blue eyes were so soft, so incredibly wounded. "I cannot speak of it so swiftly, my lady," Elsa whispered. "It would be… unjust. A mockery of the time I spent in indecision and agony. Let me have an hour or two, Anna. Let me honour that time that only hindsight has rendered shorter. God knows it was hell enough to live through."

Anna breathed over her tongue, reigning in her disappointment. "As you wish, Elsa. Thank you for sharing this story with me so far. It… means a great deal to me."

...

A/N - At the request of a dear reader, the longer chapters will now be in two parts. Keep reading for part two of Stitches! -Jen


	18. Chapter 17 - Stitches Part Two

**Stitches Part Two**

Elsa sighed as she slumped slightly into the couch cushions after finishing this part of her story, but her eye, when trained again upon Anna's face, was fiercely kind. "You were troubled earlier today, Anna. I could see it, sense it. Would you like to speak of it now?"

Anna did not hesitate as she shook her head, seeing a slight tinge of disappointment mirrored on Elsa's face. "No, I'm not quite ready yet," Anna admitted. "Let us both take a little time, in honour of certain truths and memories."

"And how would you most like to spend this time?"

"May we go back into the pool? I feel a little restless, Elsa, yet fit and eager to move my knees and feet again."

"That's a fine idea."

They both got dressed in one of their spare bathing costumes and Elsa took her back into the pool. Anna had a lot on her mind as an attendant helped her into the water, where Elsa stood, waist-deep, arms outstretched and waiting for her. It was intolerable, really, that Elsa had suffered so, that her act of empathy and kindness towards Anna's own son had had such awful consequences.

Elsa's earlier injuries in the gorge of India had somehow been of eventual service to the Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss. But just whom did these injuries serve? Surely not young Lord Galthe, whom Elsa had nursed until he eventually died of consumption. Was it all for some future patient whom Elsa would care for, whom Elsa would stitch together? Why did such terrible things happen to good-hearted people?

And why would Elsa's God continue to test her so damn much?

Anna's mood, quite dark and desperate before hearing Elsa's story, continued strange and even fey as they began to work out in the pool that afternoon. Anna barely noticed Elsa's low commands, and neither did she notice the sparkles of sunlight upon the ripples of the water. She was aware of her body, though, and worked herself hard. She swam back and forth with her arms, doggy paddling (so Elsa called it) before doing the little jumps along the edge of the pool (her knees were bending, but who cared?), Elsa barely able to keep pace with her.

Did it matter now that some cow had strayed onto train tracks in January snow eleven months ago? Did she care anymore about that ancient agony, her multiple fractures, the compression of her spinal cord? Perhaps even the pain-riddled darkness of those months before Elsa had all been necessary as well, all to bring her here and now. To this moment.

Anna felt the coolness of the water on her skin. She saw Elsa beside her. And Anna held all their stories inside her; her stories, Elsa's stories, her memories, Elsa's memories, and these stories were also stitches, fastening them together.

That awful train wreck had brought her here, and to all other moments she had shared with her therapist and companion. If Anna could go back, and erase that day, would she choose to? Would she take Hans back, and re-enter that stilted marriage?

Just three months ago, the answer would have been an emphatic yes. Erase it all, take it all back.

But now.

Now Anna thought of the dancing columns of pink and green in the jet black frame of sky, and the utter joy and completion she had felt as her soul clicked back into perfect alignment. She thought of Elsa's hand on her waist, there on the blankets, with the sharp nip of air.

Anna thought of the fullness, the generosity of Elsa's lips, as they shared a true kiss.

Now, the answer to her question was no. She would endure all of it again. Every last infected broken-hearted despairing minute of it, all for Elsa.

Anna swam back and forth in the abundant water, thinking of Leif, thinking of burning ridgepoles and shrapnel, thinking of Elsa's divine presence in her life. She felt the coolness of the water. She felt her soul expanding with knowledge, with wonder, with chagrin. So she swam, and swam.

Oh, what had happened to Catriona?

Anna was surprised to find Elsa suddenly standing right in front of her. Her therapist was rooted in the pool; she belonged there and nowhere else. "My lady, I believe that is enough for today," she said quietly.

"I can do more, Elsa."

"I do not doubt it, my dear. But I cannot. I am worn out from my ride yesterday, and from a late night, followed by a poor sleep. Anna, honey, may we stop for the day?"

Anna kept treading water with her arms as she stared at Elsa, wondering if she looked as outwardly wild as she felt. "Why, Elsa?" she whispered. "Why did all these terrible things happen to you? Why, Elsa, why?"

Elsa somehow absorbed all of Anna's heated words, letting them pass through the bounds of her skin. "I know not, my lady," she replied quietly, aware of the other people in the pool with them, curiously glancing in their direction. "I can only believe that it all must bear some higher purpose. I am no paragon, Lady Skaldenfoss. In some moments, my past and my scars are very hard to bear."

"Is that why you rub your back so much?" Anna softly asked as she reached for the edge of the pool and allowed her legs to drift down. She stood there, absently, just as if she always could. "Is it this old injury that pains you so?"

"Yes, m'lady," Elsa admitted, her voice so soft it could not carry over the water. "Old surgeries. Shrapnel. Burns. I have quite the collection of stories, and of scars."

Now that Elsa had forced her to halt, Anna suddenly felt exhausted. She would have collapsed in the pool had Elsa not seen the whiteness of her expression and suddenly held Anna by the waist. "Take me home, Elsa," Anna whispered. "I'm so tired, my dear, take me in, please."

So Elsa scooped her up in her arms, tucked her soft and close to her own body, and carried her out of the pool, into a towel and her waiting wheelchair, and then back to their home.

They took dinner in their chambers that night, as was increasingly becoming their custom. Their conversation was shallow and inconsequential, yet still delightful. Elsa asked about Anna's Christmas planning. Anna asked about letters Elsa had sent to London, to the teaching hospital. They chatted about some of the people they had come to know at the resort. Yet both of them seemed to instinctively shy away from any topic of greater import.

They knew the power of darkness now, and the prospect of communion and intimacy it afforded.

After dinner, they sat on the couch by the fire. Anna had a hoop of embroidery on her lap, and Elsa was going through some sheets of paper with spidery writing of a foreign language on them. After some time spent in companiable silence, Anna set down her hoop and looked over at her friend. "Elsa?" she asked.

"Yes, my dear?"

"When you are finished doing whatever you are doing, could you give me some basic instruction in massage? Enough that I could perhaps rub your back and give you some relief?"

Elsa beamed a small yet intense smile. "That sounds lovely. I'll be ready in about five or ten minutes."

Anna spent those minutes wiggling her toes, bending her ankles and making small movements from side to side with her knees as she continued to make small perfect stitches with her needle and thread. The nerves that webbed down her legs were curious and childlike today, not as insidiously playful as the weeks before; she had exhausted herself in the pool earlier, and perhaps that was the trick to reducing the sensation of pinpricks and needles.

She smiled as she made those small movements with her toes, ankles and knees, for her legs were covered with a blanket and these motions were invisible to her therapist. Which was all right; it would be nice to surprise Elsa with some leap in progress in the next few days.

Elsa soon set her work aside and rose from her place, gathered two pillows of similar shape and size, and then sat next to Anna on the couch. There she proceeded to instruct Anna, demonstrating her movements on the pillow; this was the sweeping motion made with the heels of the palms along either side of the spine (Anna copied the movement Elsa made on her own pillow where an imaginary spine ran from top to bottom), and then the soft kneading movements made with the thumbs upon a knot in muscle. Anna should make all these motions in an outward direction, away from the heart centre, stimulating the nerves and the lymphatic system.

The impromptu lesson lasted about half an hour, and then Elsa leaned back and said with a wry smile that she had been forced to learn much much more, but this would be sufficient for Anna's purposes.

"Now that you've practiced on that pillow, you can practice on me, if you wish," Elsa offered. "I'll just turn my back here, and you can work over my dress. You can start with somewhat light pressure until you get more comfortable with it."

Her heart pounding, Anna then could see the lithe, slender back of her therapist as Elsa turned around. Her thick platinum braid had been hanging down her back, and Elsa pulled it over her shoulder. Just as Elsa had instructed her, feeling nervous yet ecstatic, Anna began with long swoops up and down Elsa's back and then returned to the base of the spine. She could feel layers of fabric rippling and catching underneath her curious hands; though she sought to identify some of those scars Elsa had mentioned, she could not feel them under the layers of clothing.

"Ummm," Elsa lightly purred. "That feels so wonderful." She shuffled slightly closer to Anna, so they were nearly touching, as Anna continued to rub.

"How's the pressure?" Anna asked, remembering how Elsa used to ask that question in their first weeks together until she had memorized Anna's preferences.

"You can press slightly harder, if you wish."

Anna did, and for the next ten minutes, she continued to rub Elsa's back. As she did so, heat began to collect in her hands, and in other secret places in her body. Several rather insistent and delightful thoughts tiptoed past the boundaries of Anna's mind, only to have Anna shoo them forcefully away. She would not think of kissing Elsa again. She would not. Would not.

Would not.

A short time later, Anna's hands were beginning to ache. She soldiered on for a few minutes longer, her fingers now tripping and stumbling a bit over the clothing, especially as she wondered if she ever dared give Elsa a massage on her naked back. The mere thought of encountering Elsa's naked skin caused her imagination to bubble and froth; she took a deep breath, trying to remain calm, and that's when Elsa sighed, and stretched, and said, "That was wonderful, Anna, thank you so much."

Anna took her aching hands away and moistened her lips before she could reply, "You're very welcome, Elsa."

Elsa turned around to look at her, and Anna could actually see some of Elsa's relief in how her eyes were not so tight, and her shoulders seemed a little looser. "Now that you've taught me," Anna said, "I'll try to offer a little massage often. But please just ask if you'd like one. That's what friends can do." As she saw the expression on Elsa's face, she added, "I mean it."

Had her massage softened some of Elsa's other barriers? It was true that her eyes didn't seem so tight, but now Anna could see other pain hunkering there. Old pain. Deep pain. The sort of pain Anna had seen time and again in her own mirror, especially after altercations with Hans.

"Are you thinking of her?" Anna asked.

"Yes," Elsa replied, simply.

"Are you ready to continue your story?"

"Yes, I am. But you worked hard today, Anna. I would love to give you a nice, long massage in return. How about I take you into the other room and rub you down, while I will continue my story?"

Anna didn't even need to tune into her body to know that she desperately wanted Elsa's skilled hands on her skin, rubbing away the various aches and pains that had gathered in her muscles. But first she said, "Elsa, I care about you, and about your story. You do not need to be my servant tonight. We can save the massage until tomorrow if you would rather just sit here with me and continue the story."

Elsa blinked, twice, as she took in this information. A moment later she breathed, "And this is kindness in action. Sweetie, I appreciate the offer. But I would appreciate having something to do while I tell this next part of the story. It… it will not be easy to tell."

Soon Anna had been stripped down to her drawers and placed on the massage table in the bathing chamber. Candles were lit in sconces around the edges of the room, taming the darkness. Elsa oiled her hands and began to rub. Her hands, normally so swift and sure, seemed weighted and somehow distant. Anna felt those hands upon her skin and thought of all that Elsa had revealed

And in so doing, Anna was pierced with a new thought: that nothing outwardly had changed in the last twenty-four hours. Not really. The world itself had not been altered. Only her perception of it.

Anna's world had become so compact and condensed; this resort was her entire life, including the pool, the rehabilitation, the residents, and the woman who made it all possible. Letters she received from her family were sometimes rude reminders of the life that existed beyond these walls. All Anna wanted, all she needed was this place, this time, this woman.

On the surface of her relationship with Elsa, nothing had changed.

But out in the deep, beyond the riptide, the undertow, everything was different.

For that was where the leviathans dwelled.

And now Anna knew some of their names.

What a gift this was, this naming, this cognizant speech. This power of words passing from one soul to another. Anna felt Elsa's cool hands start to rub her skin, and she thought of Leif and the Spring Offensive, she thought of primroses blooming on distant mountains, and she thought of kisses stolen behind hospital tents. She thought of Elsa's hand scrawling a false signature, and the nights Anna had thus been able to spend with her dying son.

The debt that Skaldenfoss now owed to Elsa Wolff was climbing beyond all possibility of repayment.

If Elsa called herself a mountain, then Anna knew that other monsters and beasts dwelled upon distant slopes, the last secrets Elsa had alluded to but hadn't yet spoken of. While those behemoths hid in darkness and shadow, that did not negate their absolute presence, nor their ability to suddenly rise up and ravage the senses.

Anna had her own fair share of these fell krakens of memory. She prayed for the courage to share them with Elsa, as Elsa had shown so much courage in sharing both cesspools and beasts with her.

She called these words 'stitches', and nothing could be more apt.

"You have been quiet today, my lady," Elsa said a few minutes later while she patiently worked on Anna's ankles and feet. She no longer had to tell Anna where she was working, for Anna felt everything upon her legs and feet now, along with the occasional crackle and fizzle of her regenerating nerves. "I know that there is something on your mind. Have I been too forward in sharing my story with you, of my Cati?"

"Nothing could be further than the truth," Anna said, turning her head slightly so Elsa could understand the import of her words. "I have had a great deal to ponder in the last few days, that is all. Elsa, I am astonished at the change I've witnessed in both of us since your birthday. While an ember of shame lingers within me at how oblivious I'd been in the last few months, I must admit that we are so much stronger than we used to be. Such is the power of true speech, Elsa, and such is the power of true experience." Anna felt Elsa squeeze her heel as she acknowledged Anna's words.

"You say that you are stitches, Elsa?" Anna continued. "Yes, you are. With every story you tell, with every rehabilitation session and massage you give me, you are stitching us closer together." Anna felt the familiar thickness in her throat as she thought yet again of Elsa's eventual departure.

There was a weighted pause, and then Elsa said, "Our eventual separation will be agony, won't it?"

There. It was bald. It was naked. It was exposed to the world.

And it was devastatingly true, for Anna's already much-beleaguered heart rent even further at hearing these words. That Elsa felt likewise was poor comfort; the agony itself would remain that eventual day they would be parted.

For a separation there must be, eventually. And the current Anna could not bear even the thought of it.

"Yes. Yes, it will." Anna could say more.

Elsa worked in silence for a while longer while Anna laboured to focus on the present moment, to remember all that she had been given, and not to fret about those things she could not have.

Elsa was hers, but only to a certain point. And no further. No matter how Anna might wish otherwise.

Elsa's presence in her life was steadily teaching her something; the transience of beautiful things, to see and enjoy in their season, in their time, like the flowers in her garden back in Iskall Slott.

Their separation would be agony, but eventually, Anna would have to let Elsa go.

She was brought back to the present moment when Elsa spoke. "If you wish, my dear, I believe I am finally ready to continue my story," Elsa softly said a few minutes later.

"Yes, please, Elsa."

She heard Elsa clear her throat and then her nurse continued her tale.

"They say that time heals all wounds," Elsa began. "It's true that my body healed, but the wounds of my mind and spirit had no stitches, and thereby could not heal. My case was thrown out of court in the aftermath of the German strike, and I returned to what duties I could manage as soon as possible, anything to distract myself from the agony of not knowing Catriona's fate…"

Never had the path of renunciation been harder for Elsa Wolff. Weeks turned into months, the war raged on, and Elsa's anger continued to boil and burn. "The worst part was knowing that this would all eventually be for my benefit," Elsa said as she patiently oiled and massaged Anna's knees. "All of my meditation and study had afforded me glimpses into the inner workings of fate and the universe. How my God must have trusted me, to give me such trials to endure, knowing that somewhere, somehow I had the strength to overcome them. I confess I had moments when I cursed my capricious, stern God and cursed every meandering fate that led me to these awful, empty moments of bereavement and betrayal…"

It was mid-summer before Elsa finally received news. Catriona was alive.

"Where was she?" Anna was startled into asking.

"By army dispatch, I discovered that Catriona had barely survived the strike against the retreating column of the Fifth Army. While people died around her, she crawled and crept several kilometres through mud and chaos to a neighbouring farm, only to discover a husband and wife also in hiding. When things calmed and the family was able to return to their home, Catriona realized that the man of the house was greatly injured. I had taught Cati a new method of blood transfusion. The man's wife and a neighbour were eager to donate the plasma of their blood, and the man's life was saved."

The farm was small, the husband and wife were older and their grown daughters gone, and the land was deeply ravaged by war, but they offered to keep Catriona with them, despite her wasting illness. She nursed the man of the house for a time before she abruptly sickened, and then they nursed her. No opportunity came for them to send telegrams or other notices, for the front was ever close, and they hid often from aerial strikes. It wasn't until summer came, and the Germans lost several battles, that the farmer's wife was able to travel to nearby Reims and send a telegram on Cati's behalf to army headquarters. It took an additional two weeks for that information to reach Elsa.

"There are no words to express the joy I felt when I read that simple telegram," Elsa said. "My leg had knitted well, I walked only with a cane when needed, so the very next day, I got permission to leave, and I started making my journey past Reims and towards this farm. Only thirty kilometres had separated us, but never had thirty kilometres been so very far…"

So Elsa rode a horse, her leg aching, past fields struggling to produce crops that would yet feed hungry French mouths. It took three days to make the journey; Elsa could hear the deep boom of bombs and feel the resulting deep tremor in the bowels of the earth as she carefully and steadily made her way towards the village of Pomacle, a short distance north and east of the city of Reims.

As Elsa said the name of the village, something deep tugged within Anna's mind. She set part of her mind to digging away at that splinter even as she continued to listen, whole-heartedly, to Elsa's story.

"You cannot imagine my joy, Anna, as I turned down a lane and saw my Cati standing by the fence, a garden shovel in her hands, smiling at me."

Elsa had not cared for any audience; she spurred her tired horse into a canter, came to a careening halt in front of her love, dismounted in a swirl of skirt and boot, and kissed Cati senseless before holding her tight.

"I had never been so happy in my whole life," Elsa admitted as she began to work on the tight muscles of Anna's lower back. "The empty part of me had been so wonderfully filled. But even then my relationship with Cati was teaching me something… teaching me that I did not need a partner to complete me. I was learning that I was whole and perfect, even without her, and that her presence in my life was like that of the sun shining on the earth, each so whole and perfect and wonderful on its own, but each in such love with each other…"

They stayed at the farm for the next few weeks, helping this elderly man and his wife. They had three daughters, yet all of them were wed and gone, so it was easy to welcome Elsa and Catriona into their house and home…

Elsa's voice slowly ground to a halt.

"My god," Elsa whispered.

Complete understanding burst inside Anna's mind like a shower of fireworks; though Elsa had been rubbing her naked back, Anna propped herself on her elbows and craned her neck so that she could see the candlelit visage of her therapist.

Their eyes struck each other; Elsa seemed unable to withstand this grave assault, and she removed her hands from Anna's back, elbows akimbo and reeling.

"Helene," Elsa whispered.

"Pomacle," Anna repeated.

"The farmer's name was Robert," Elsa said with a decided French accent. "Hers was Emilie."

"Yes. Those are her parents' names."

"It's impossible."

Anna, already on one of her elbows, reached out her hand to grasp Elsa's nearest wrist. "Elsa. Stop. You know better. Nothing is impossible. Not anymore. Not for us."

In the wan candlelight, Elsa's face looked wild; perhaps as strange and fey as Anna's own expression earlier this afternoon in the pool. "They fed us, sheltered us, yet barely spoke of the daughters who were gone… and yet…"

"One was Helene. Leif's wife. Their third daughter."

"Yes," Elsa breathed, only now able to come back to Anna's side, and put her hands again on Anna's aching skin. "They had nicknames for their girls; we knew them as Poupée, Étoile, and…"

From that deep and abiding place in Anna's memory, she plucked forth the memory of Helene's childhood nickname; surely it had been spoken in quiet congress those nights they had attended upon Leif.

"Loukum."

Silence reigned as Anna's mind continued to explode in understanding.

Loukum was the French term for Turkish Delight. Elsa had brought Turkish Delight for their very first day together. She had given Anna candy and flowers, and said that she came a'courting.

Helene had told Leif of this nickname, and why her father had so christened her; she was a small, gritty thing, yet exotic and sweet, and so she would be known for the rest of her life.

Coincidence? Anna thought not. Like Elsa, she no longer believed in coincidence.

"How astonishing," Elsa breathed as she continued to oil and massage Anna's shoulders and back. "I could have spoken to Helene while back in Iskall Slott, had I not been so focused on locking my memories with Cati away…"

"Do not fret, Elsa," Anna replied. "We'll be home for Christmas, and you can find time to share your stories then, if you wish. I have not written them about your connection to Leif; these stories are yours and yours alone. I shall not usurp them."

"I appreciate that." With another soft sigh, Elsa then continued.

So they stayed with this family in Pomacle for several weeks, making their plans. Elsa offered to take Catriona home to Ireland, but Cati refused. She insisted on their travelling to India, and going to the monastery that Elsa had spoken of so often. She wanted to see the primroses on the mountains, to smell the smoky incense, and to have a chance to share one last journey with Elsa. The last best journey.

The family provided them with as many supplies as they could spare, and, one summer day, they began their journey. It took months, as they travelled by truck, by train, by horse, by whatever means necessary. Catriona still had her coughing fits and continued to lose weight. Elsa was worn out and ragged from anxiety and the privations of travelling across the world in the midst of a war. The journey took three months and every last bit of money both of them had managed to save.

They arrived at the monastery in October of 1918, where both of them were warmly welcomed home.

The next few months were difficult. Elsa fell ill, exhausted from their journey. Catriona struggled to communicate with the locals, and sometimes felt alien to them. But by the time spring came, and the primroses began to bloom on the mountains, they had both settled into their life together. They had been given a small cottage to live in, in the village next to the monastery.

"Our lives were simple, for our wants and needs were also so simple. It was such a wholesome life, working and serving others, enjoying the fruit of our labours. We tried to live in the moment, and not concern ourselves with the certainty of Cati's eventual death from consumption."

And on the first day of springtime in 1919, Cati surprised Elsa with a ring, a single, unadorned golden band, simple and pure, symbolizing their love for each other. They could share no other vows. But they lived together, worked together, and served their small community as best as they could. Cati worked with the orphans, taught English, worked as a nurse, and kept their little patch of garden. Elsa entered another apprenticeship with her Master, deepening her knowledge of more esoteric healing arts, including the rarely-to-be-used spinal twist that had sparked Anna's legs.

There was no halting the consumption. But they refused to be defined by disease. They had their arguments, their hard moments, but life was yet glorious, filled with days of service and nights of love. In fact, the certainty of death changed everything for them, made them believe whole-heartedly in the joy and wonder of the present moment.

For they learned that every present moment held some bud of wonder, some seedling of joy. Who cared for the eventual death of winter, when spring reigned eternal just there, on the other side?

And then, in March of 1921, just as the new primroses began to unfurl from the mantle of snow, Catriona slipped away forever. Right there, in Elsa's arms.

By this time, Elsa had turned Anna face-up on the table and was working on her shoulders and scalp. Now she paused in her narrative, and her hands paused in their work.

Anna had kept her eyes closed this entire time, seeing the story unfold upon the great dark tapestry of her eyelids. She had been with Elsa the whole time, as she and Catriona wandered across continents, and found their joy in work and in each other. Anna had been there when Catriona died, had seen Elsa cradling her dead partner in her arms, bestowing a final kiss on silent lips. Her heart was thick with the gravity of this story; the words held her tight and fast just like stitches.

But with this pause, this final news of Catriona's death, and with the half-breath, half-sob that then emerged from Elsa's lips, Anna opened her eyes to see Elsa's head bowed with grief.

And Anna's already besieged heart shivered again in empathy and affection, as she suddenly and inexplicably shared Elsa's love for Catriona, this woman Anna would never know, this woman who had left an undying legacy of service and devotion smouldering in Elsa's worn heart.

Her throat thick with sympathetic grief and loss, Anna knew she could say nothing to aid her dear companion. Sometimes words were useless.

So she reached out with her arm, to grasp Elsa's nearest hand.

The moment she made contact, Elsa dissolved into sobs and clutched at Anna's hand. "Oh, Anna," she whimpered as Anna tugged her closer. "I miss her so much!"

"Oh my dear one, my darling," Anna soothed. The table made things slightly awkward, yet Anna pulled Elsa closer, astonished and pleased when Elsa pillowed her head upon Anna's breast, over her heart, and her body shook with tears. Anna's own tears were flowing freely, but she did not touch them or wipe them away; her hands were upon Elsa's neck and shoulders, stroking her, absorbing Elsa's sobs, for they were sewn together now and for eternity, and they would share this tempest of love and memory, this loss and sorrow, yet there was beauty to be found here; yes, even here, for tears were the celestial lubricant of the endless sea, and they would cross the ocean of grief together, with shared tears and shared losses and shared love and devotion.

This leviathan had swallowed them both; Anna would not let Elsa go.

For Elsa Wolff, time momentarily ceased to have meaning. She had passed through years and across continents since first bearing her many losses, but both space and time had been obliterated in this outpouring of story, for she had never spoken of these memories to another human soul, not even her Master. She had thought they would stay buried forever, a treasure of gold and precious stones best hoarded behind stout walls that no one would ever dare climb.

Surely God had given Anna Arendelle to her.

To have Anna accept this story, and fold these words into herself, to have Anna hold her and comfort her; Elsa felt this kindness as keen and sharp as Anna's many other kindnesses. Indeed, the lady she served was a woman of empathy and compassion but a woman with profound edges and insight as well. Her curiosity carved open these old memories, cut through the scars of time and distance, and caused Elsa to bleed anew.

For Elsa had forgotten the blessing of pain. She had shied away from these dread shadow memories far too long. How wise her lady was, to climb the walls of her stories, to split open the fortress of Elsa's heart, and bring forth the cobwebbed treasure of light and joy that was Catriona's undying inheritance.

For some things endure. Some things survive the passage over the endless sea.

Elsa wept, not only for the loss of Catriona, but also for Anna's fierce kindness.

For long minutes she was cradled and supported in the freshness of her grief. Anna stroked her, made soothing sounds, perhaps not aware that this compassion was tearing apart every last shred of resistance in Elsa's heart.

Among Catriona's dying words was a final admonition. "You must allow someone to break your heart," Cati had whispered. "Break it wide open."

It was starting to happen.

The recent beloved experiences she had shared with her lady had only deepened the respect and admiration Elsa felt for the lady she served.

But now? Elsa knew it was not only admiration.

For Elsa had fallen deeply, madly in love with the Dowager Baroness Lady Skaldenfoss, Anna Arendelle.

Elsa knew it, for it knifed her in the heart with despair. The illicit love she felt for this woman could not be borne, not now, not while mourning her other lost love. It could only end in disaster, in heartache.

With this thought, Elsa lifted her head and wiped her eyes. "Thank you, my lady," she whispered. "Thank you for sharing my grief and hearing my story."

"You are welcome," Anna replied, lifting a hand to caress Elsa's cheek. Even that simple, innocent gesture caused a fresh wave of delicious hurt to pass through Elsa's body. What did it mean, that Anna often touched her in such a way? She was a grandmother, a widow, a goddam _Baroness!_ Oh, Elsa was so confused. So... wanting.

 _Master, help me!_

"Shall I finish your scalp rub, my lady?" Elsa asked, deliberately using the honorific.

Some strange emotion flashed momentarily across Anna's features, but before Elsa could comprehend it, it was gone. "You are already done," Anna replied. "My dear girl, grief takes its own toll, and I believe we are both worn out. Let us get ready for bed and look forward to a new day."

Elsa nodded, her throat still thick with sorrow and the new unwelcome knowledge of her desperate love for her lady, her Anna. It took every reserve of strength she possessed to lift Anna from the table, carry her back into her bedchamber, and prepare her for sleeping. Anna seemed withdrawn and distracted, exhibiting the same complex emotions that Elsa had seen earlier this afternoon. Elsa did not have the strength of heart to ask about them again, and neither did Anna volunteer.

Once she was ensconced in her bed, Anna beckoned Elsa closer for their goodnight kiss. Elsa sat on the edge of Anna's bed and leaned as close as she dared; she lifted her hand to touch Anna's shoulder as Anna put her warm hands on Elsa's neck and softly, sweetly kissed each of Elsa's cheeks.

She held Elsa a moment longer, her teal eyes soft and filled with caring. Elsa could not bear that look. "Good night, dear Elsa."

"Good night, m'lady."

Elsa left Anna's bedchamber ignoring the surprised hurt on Anna's face, quickly closing the door behind her. She quickly roamed through the little flat, checking the locks and windows, making sure the fire would burn down to ash. She gathered her book and the photo in her hands and retreated to her own bedroom.

Where she sat heavily on the edge of the bed and stared one more time into Catriona's eyes. "Oh, my Cati," she whispered. "What do I do? I am hurting her now, I can only ever hurt her!"

Elsa took her pillow in her arms, curled over her sore and aching stomach, and proceeded to weep again, so very softly, so very gently, so as not to disturb the lady she so greatly adored.

Even this scant thought of Anna caused an avalanche of other thoughts, other memories.

If Elsa dared think back, she could pinpoint the very moment she had started to fall in love with Anna. It had been the day of her lady's greatest pain, the day they had first used each other's true names. It had been agony to watch Anna suffer, and that was when Elsa realized that the love she bore for all her patients was but a fraction of the desperate love she was beginning to feel for this lady.

Followed as it had been by news of her Master's impending demise, it had been easy to shut those thoughts and feelings away. She had painstakingly constructed new walls and fortresses around her heart and her future.

For even then Elsa knew that it could not be a fertile garden, this love she bore for Anna Arendelle, Baroness Skaldenfoss. Anna was shut away behind impenetrable walls, walls of her station, walls of duty and privilege and motherhood. Even if by some miniscule stray chance that Anna would actually reciprocate Elsa's feelings (Anna was very free with her touches and her affection, but this was not an indicator of her orientation), there was something Elsa deeply lacked.

Time. She just didn't have enough of it.

So nothing could come of Elsa's abundant love except heartache.

 _Come now, Elsa, stop being such a drama queen. You know love's greatest reward. Say it. Say it right now._

Joy.

Such joy as Elsa had not felt in years. Joy Elsa never thought to experience in such dizzying ways ever again.

Holding Anna under the celestial light of the aurora, feeling the rise and fall of her breath under her hand. Feeling the length of her, all warm and decadent and vibrant along Elsa's slowly withering body. Sharing her secrets, speaking them into the sacred air that had hung all silent and welcoming between them. Seeing the light of the aurora reflected in her dear lady's eyes, just like stardust, just like soulfire. Every moment of it had been incredibly dear, every moment striking deep and hard into Elsa's heart and memory. Even now, just thinking of it caused fresh lubbings of her agonized heart.

Still curled over her pillow, still weeping hot and stinging tears; Elsa could not halt the path of her memories.

Back in her bedchamber Anna had embraced her, held her, cherished her for long minutes. Elsa had needed that warm connection, so very much. It had been literally years since anyone had held her so.

And then Anna had kissed her.

Knowing of Catriona, knowing of Elsa's preference for her own gender, knowing of Elsa's deep loss, Anna still held her close, and then Anna had kissed her. On her lips. On her mouth. With what seemed her entire desperate soul.

 _Oh, god!_

It had been so brief, yet so incredibly lovely. It had further awakened the slumbering greatness of Elsa's whole soul, for she had buried so much of herself in this place and time, thinking it necessary for protection, and to keep her from pain.

Yet what need had Elsa for protection, especially now that her last and greatest secret similarly slumbered in the depths of her lower back?

Could she finally find the courage required to give her all to the lady she loved? Could she allow Anna to break her wide open? God, there was so little time left, couldn't Elsa be brave enough for this?

Could she truly risk it all?

In this moment, Elsa knew how greatly she adored her lady. Elsa loved her with every quivering fibre of her ancient heart. She couldn't bear to be apart from her. Every moment in Anna's presence was like a symphony of joy, as she witnessed Anna's own great transformation.

Anna had said that there was nothing Elsa could say or do that would change how Anna felt about her.

But what would Anna say if she knew Elsa's last secrets? Could she accept Elsa's knowledge of future events, could she bear knowing that Elsa had struck through time on the prongs of vicious orange lightning, that the timbre of thunder and the salt lash of the sea had dislodged Elsa's entire existence? At least Elsa had evidence, she had her postcard and her guidebook

 _Which foretold Anna's premature death in late September 1924,_

 _And also prophesied of the ruination of the Skaldenfoss family, estate, and name in just five years time…_

And she had her own memories as well to support her truth. Would it be enough? When Anna said that there was no part of Elsa's past that she would reject, she had done so in innocence, not knowing just what kind of secrets Elsa bore.

This knowledge could be enough to tear them apart.

Stitches could only bear so great a burden before ripping.

Elsa's heart could only bear so much pain before breaking. She could feel it giving way even now.

No, it was too soon. Wait until Anna could walk. Wait until Christmas. Let her have her Christmas miracle, her dance with her son. Then. Tell her everything. Absolutely everything.

For Elsa was in love with Anna. And, for now, she would lie to her because she loved her, and wanted to protect her.

It would be a grievous sin of omission, and Elsa knew it, and gagged on it.

Elsa's tears abruptly worsened, and she fell onto her bed, still curled over her sore stomach. In every moment Anna was behind her eyelids, the Anna of the aurora, the Anna who stood in the pool and silently rejoiced in her feet, and the Anna who had held Elsa's face in her hands and softly yet thoroughly kissed her.

Despite her exhaustion, despite her weary tears, it was hours before Elsa fell asleep, curled shivering into her sheets, for only here, alone, did she dare to dream of a reality that could never exist, a reality in which she loved, and was loved, and reality where Anna more than kissed her.

...

Author's Note: My dears, I know the chapters are long. But I hope you enjoy them nonetheless. As we head into the next part of this story, I could use your feedback. Reviews are love. -Jen


	19. Chapter 18 - Shiver

**Chapter Eighteen**

 **Shiver**

It was the last day of November, year 1924.

Anna was roughly wakened from a sound slumber by the sounds of sickness coming from the bathing chamber. She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding behind the iron fingers of her ribs; her dreams were chased away by the suddenness of her waking, leaving only the softest of wisps. Wisps that had been inappropriate to say the least, for in them she had tasted yet again the suppleness of Elsa's lips, and felt the coolness of Elsa's fingers stroking the nape of her neck. There had been more yet, but all of it was now gone, obliterated by sounds of great distress.

"Elsa?" she called out, reaching to turn on the lamp and look at the clock. It was completely dark in her chamber, and the hour read just short of five in the morning.

There was no reply. Just the sound of vomiting, and retching, and coughing. Then a dull thump.

Silence.

And more silence.

"Elsa?!" Anna asked again, raising her voice even louder in her concern. She turned in her bed before she even thought about it, going so far as to swing her legs over the edge of her bed where her toes brushed against the cold floor. She stopped herself mere moments before standing.

Fright and elation coursed through her. Her legs were working completely today, at her barest command.

 _Ride the tide!_

Before she could summon her better senses, Anna grabbed the arm of her wheelchair and yanked it close to the bed. She chose to ignore her recent experience of having fallen on the floor; instead Anna drowned her mind in memories of standing in the pool. The grit under her feet, the slick coolness of the water, the way her legs had utterly supported her. She was perfect. She was whole.

She could do this.

That very moment she heard Elsa heaving once more. The sound was guttural and wretched, coloured with pain. "Oh no," Anna breathed as she shuffled closer to the edge of the bed and deliberately put her feet on the floor. She took a deep breath and then heaved herself into her wheelchair, ignoring a dull squeeze of pain from her healing wrist, pivoting and turning with one smooth rhythm that had been beyond her capability only days ago. She felt the shock of gravity and pressure on her knees and ankles, but they were not overcome; she locked them in place and fell, rather awkwardly, onto her seat.

She would have crowed in delight had she not been so concerned for Elsa's wellbeing. She bent her knees and placed her feet on the rests, and then she wheeled herself to the edge of the bathroom, already shivering herself for the coolness of their rooms in the pre-dawn winter morning.

Anna knocked on the door first, and began to open it even as she heard Elsa's weak and surprised, "Anna?"

Anna awkwardly pushed open the door and wheeled herself closer, glad that there were no sills barring her entry. She saw Elsa half-prone on the floor next to the toilet. She wore only her nightdress; no robe. Her platinum cable of hair was mussed and matted, and her face was eerily white against the backdrop of the wall. Even as Anna watched, Elsa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slumped, curling over her stomach.

"Oh, sweetheart," Anna cried, wheeling herself further into the bathroom. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry for waking you," Elsa replied. Her voice was weak.

"Stop that. What's going on? Tell me."

"Anna, I'm…" and then Elsa's face went a ghastly shade of puce as she rocketed forward to hold the bowl of the toilet in her trembling hands and vomited again. The reek of it was enormous and vile, but Anna did not care; her captive heart was hammering even further in sympathy and concern. She was close to the sink; she wheeled to it, to dampen a towel in warm water, and when Elsa had finished throwing up, Anna came close and handed it to her therapist. She was uncomfortably reminded of their voyage across the sea, and how Elsa had fainted right in front of her eyes, later to vomit and convulse in sickness.

She had cared for Elsa then, it was true, but that was only a candle compared to the bonfire of love and affection she now held for this woman before her.

Elsa patted her face with it as she once again slumped back, her breath high and aching, her skin the colour of pale dead snow. Anna took this chance to touch Elsa's cheek and forehead with the back of her hand; Elsa was fiery with fever.

"What's wrong, Elsa?" Anna begged, deeper worry taking root inside her.

"That all day ride and the midnight aurora watching must have finally caught up with me," Elsa breathed. "It doesn't help that I haven't had a decent night's sleep in ages. God, I feel wretched."

For some reason, Elsa's words became strange, her sarcasm unusual. "Tell me what I can do for you," Anna said as she watched Elsa shift position on the cold floor. Anna noticed that the hem of Elsa's nightdress was rucked up to above her knee. Her legs were utterly smooth, her calves and the turn of her ankles inordinately beautiful.

"If only there was something you could do," Elsa said as she started to curl her legs under her.

Then Anna saw a full-body shiver cascade over the frame of her therapist, as momentous and displacing as an avalanche. Elsa shot Anna a despairing, horrific glance before she rocketed to her knees and retched again into the toilet, unable to bring up anything except dry heaves.

That was enough.

Anna abruptly turned her wheelchair around so she could return to her room. There she pulled the bell for Kate, ringing it more than usual; the servants would only be rising just now this ungodly early in the morning, but Anna needed help and she needed it _now!_

When she turned back to return to Elsa, she could see her beloved friend staring at her from where she rested, slumped again on one elbow against the cold floor. What was that expression on her face?

Was it… _pleading?_

And although Anna had often hated and loathed her circumstances and the wheelchair that was the dread representation of all her inadequacies, she felt an overpowering surge of anger and hatred for this damned chair rise up inside her. She used to be able to comfort someone, used to be able to grab a blanket or run a bath or pour a cup of tea or do one of a million things that everyone with goddamned legs was able to do without even thinking about it, and here she was chained to her chair when her dear Elsa was ill and in pain. Anna could feel her legs, and she could even move them from time to time, but still she could not offer the same level of support and comfort to someone she had come to so dearly love.

Indeed, what Anna had grown to hate most of all about being a crippled convalescent was how stymied she felt, how hindered on all sides. When she had been the true lady of Skaldenfoss, she had been a busy woman with many responsibilities and cares. She had risen admirably to many challenges, advocating for widows' rights, fighting for the poor and indigent, circumventing her husband's callousness as often as she could. The accident had torn those aspects of her life away as if merely tearing a piece of paper in half. She had regained so very much in the last few months of Elsa's patient care, but in this one moment, it still wasn't enough.

It just wasn't enough!

If she dared to scream, Anna would have screamed with frustration.

But Anna was a true lady; she had been born into the position, but then she had accepted it with all its duties and all its flaws. She knew exactly how to rise to just this exact situation. And screaming was not remotely part of the solution.

She wheeled back into the bathroom, only to see Elsa hunched over with her head down, one arm still over her stomach, the other arm propping her up with a bent wrist; her breath was short and shallow and her eyes were closed. Anna's heart ricked sideways yet again, and her voice was thick as she said, "Kate is coming, dearest. You're the nurse, Elsa, please tell me, what do you need?"

A long minute passed before Elsa wearily lifted her head. Anna had never seen those particular eyes on Elsa's face before; she was utterly dejected, and utterly spent. Whole oceans of unfathomable pain dwelt in those beloved blue eyes, and Anna wondered just how long Elsa had sobbed for Catriona the night before. Was her dead lover the only thing still on Elsa's mind? It had been agonizing for Anna to fall asleep hearing those low and piteous cries and wishing with all her heart that she could have provided some smidgeon of comfort.

Anna's simple request seemed to volley something dreadful and menacing against the wards of Elsa's personal mountain, for Elsa whispered, "What do I need? Something that only my God can give me. And in this respect, he has turned his face from me and has left me to my fate." Then she took a shaky inhale as her eyes reddened. Then she turned her head, unable to bear Anna's concerned gaze.

Anna wheeled closer. She reached down and lifted Elsa's chin with her fingers and looked deeply into those tortured eyes. "Then what a blessing it is that, for now, our fates have entwined. You are not alone." From the fertile garden of her memories Anna plucked a most precious flower and spoke words she knew Elsa would recognize, words about courage that Anna had hoarded since the day they met. She spoke slowly, deliberately, "My fate I give to you, as I would give all good things to you."

The words passed the sacred space between them, vibrating with truth and substance and beauty, to strike Elsa's poor skin with all the devastation of butterfly wings.

Elsa stared at her, her eyes wide with wonder and fondness.

"My lady," she said quietly.

Anna did not hear the empty platitude spoken millions of times by various servants. No, this time she heard how Elsa's tongue wrapped around those two short words, how her lips formed them, so perfectly and so well, with the greater emphasis on the possessive pronoun. As if Anna really did belong to Elsa, that Elsa truly possessed her; mind, body and soul.

For Anna there could be only one response. A word she rarely and then never used with her husband. He had not deserved the word. And Anna had never gifted anyone else with it.

Some words were indeed sacred, and not to be cast like pearls before swine.

Elsa Wolff was most deserving of this gift, even though she may not know its true worth. It was enough that Anna knew it.

So Anna Arendelle, Lady of Skaldenfoss, stroked Elsa's cheek with her fingers, felt that fever burning underneath her skin, and whispered, "My darling."

Another full-body avalanche shivered across Elsa's skin; was it only this great sentiment, or was it the fault of this sudden illness that had assaulted her?

In the soul-quivering silence that ensued, Anna heard the door to their little apartment open, and Kate's voice called out, albeit softly, "Lady Skaldenfoss? You rang?"

Loath as she was to disconnect from Elsa, Anna smiled at her therapist and retreated, so that she could call out, "We're in here, Kate!"

Their maid swiftly came into the room and curtsied. "My lady?" she asked.

Those same words were absolutely meaningless on her tongue. They meant nothing.

"Miss Wolff has fallen ill," Anna said. "Miss Wolff, are you ready to return to your room?"

Elsa wearily nodded, and started trying to collect her wobbly legs underneath her. With a sharp nod of Anna's head, she gestured for Kate to assist Elsa. Kate rushed in and bent down, to hold Elsa's arm and help lift her from the floor. "Have you caught a flu, Miss Wolff?" the maid asked as Elsa finally stood, holding Kate's arm tightly.

Anna was carefully watching her therapist, so she saw Elsa's eyes quickly flick in Anna's direction. "No, not a flu," Elsa replied. "Just some old troubles. Thank you, Kate. I appreciate this greatly."

Anna caught those words and reeled them into her mind for later contemplation. She wheeled herself out of the way as Kate supported Elsa, walking with her step by step out of the bathroom, through the lounge and into Elsa's bedchamber. A short whispered conference took place between the two of them as Elsa asked for a basin for her chamber, and for some tea. Elsa shooed Kate just shy of being helped into her bed; the maid bobbed her head, nodded at Lady Skaldenfoss, and left them to fetch those items.

Anna wheeled herself closer as Elsa laboriously climbed into her bed. She wheeled right up to the edge of the bed and helped tuck Elsa under the blanket. "Old troubles?" Anna repeated as Elsa began to settle herself between the sheets.

"I have only one kidney," Elsa admitted, only now resting her head against the pillow. "This… this just happens sometimes."

"Has it happened at Iskall Slott?"

"A few times, yes."

"You never told me."

"And shatter my aura of invincibility?" Elsa weakly chuckled. "I never told anyone."

"Don't do that anymore, okay?" Anna begged. "Stop being a mountain. Please?"

"No more mountains," Elsa breathed a moment later. "Only seas. The last best sea."

Something in those words caused a chill to flense Anna's muscles; her hair stood on end as a strange sense of foreboding passed through her. Just what did Elsa mean?

Before she could ask about it, she saw another shiver pass over Elsa's skin. Hoping that spare blankets were in the wardrobe, Anna wheeled over to it and opened it. She scanned the contents quickly, noticing Elsa's few possessions, including a cloth bag of some sort with something square inside it, some ornaments from India, and, somewhat surprisingly, that picture of Anna's family. A blanket was folded along the bottom, so Anna took it and wheeled back to Elsa's side, helping to fluff it over her slim body.

Elsa's eyes were hooded and weary, yet they crinkled as she essayed a smile at Anna. "You are so good to me, Anna," she whispered as Anna tucked the blanket close to Elsa's chin.

"It is no more than you deserve," Anna replied. "It is terrible seeing you ill and in pain." Even as she said the words she pictured Elsa sitting with Leif in the hospital tent, how her dear son must have shown her the pictures of his new bride and family; Anna then thought of her last midnight conversation with her son.

 _I am here because of such kindness._

Anna shook that thought away as she focused on Elsa, here in the darkened chamber, still shivering. "Thanks, honey," Elsa whispered, her eyes already fluttering shut.

Anna reached out and tucked a tendril of hair back behind Elsa's ear. "Rest, my darling," she whispered. "Please, just rest."

"Am I?" Elsa murmured as she burrowed into the blanket and sheets, tucking her knees close to her elbows, as if she were nought but a lonely and bewildered child. "Am I your darling? Oh, Anna, what am I to you?"

Anna couldn't immediately reply, for she did not know the answer, either. Elsa's plaintive words touched a soft and wounded place in Anna's heart, and she watched, her throat thick, as Elsa fell asleep in front of her.

It proved to be a day of torment and frustration for Lady Skaldenfoss. Elsa slept for a few hours before becoming violently ill again. When the vomiting had finally subsided, Anna asked Kate to draw Elsa a hot bath. Anna sat out in the living room, staring at the fire that burned in the grate, watching as overcast skies finally sent down lazy flakes of white snow, and listened to Elsa cough in the tub. Deep in thought, remembering how that metallic voice had spoken to her the day before, and yet how she chose to address Elsa earlier as her darling; it was as if two parts of herself were at complete war with each other. She thought and thought, occasionally rubbing her aching legs with those pinpricks of needles and tingles of pain.

The aurora had returned something precious to her. Dare Anna recognize it, and name it, and claim it fully as her own? She had been gifted with a part of her soul, and with a thought as well. Now, Anna remembered that thought, and how perfect it had been.

 _I can love whom I wish to love. For all love is divine._

Was this actually true? Did she truly believe it?

For if she did, Anna somehow knew that her entire life would change. Nothing could be the same.

Was she really ready for this tumultuous storm of absolute truth, with all the wonder and the agony that it would bring?

She knew she wanted it, but her wanting was as a child wanted a sweet at tea or a story at bedtime. Her wanting was a young, precious and immature thing. Yet did that diminish its worth, and its potential beauty?

It was something to consider as the hours stretched by, and Elsa remained unwell.

For Elsa emerged from the tub a short while later, some slight colour back in her cheeks, though every step she took spoke of her bone-deep exhaustion and latent pain. She sat with Anna, sipping tea and eating toast, a basin at her feet in case of emergency. It was just past lunchtime; Anna, in turn, ate soup and sandwiches. They did not speak much; it seemed all Elsa's energy was devoted to lifting the cup of tea to her lips, to chewing a small bolus of toast. The day after Elsa's birthday, Anna had promised to give her quiet, and it was a gift especially reserved for moments just like this.

Anna sipped her own tea, and nibbled at a sandwich, and thought of the question that Elsa had asked her this morning.

Just what was she to Anna?

Anna had only to look at her to know what Elsa had become; her sun, her moon, her starlit sky. Elsa Wolff had entered Anna's life like a comet, and somehow became the sum total of Anna's entire universe, her hopes, her fears, her deepest tulip-soft dreams.

But she could not say these things, not when Elsa was so vulnerable and depleted. Not when Anna remained so unsure and confused. Time, they had, to make sense of this… this bond that had formed between them.

If Anna ever had a true hope in all her life, it was this. That they had time to make sense of things. Oh, dear god, please give them time!

"Oh, I hope this stays down," Elsa volunteered as she finished the last bite of her toast. She then turned her head into her elbow and coughed.

"Have any of your previous bouts of illness been quite this severe, Elsa?"

Elsa sighed as she looked at Anna over the rim of her cup of tea. Her eyes were shadowed and still so very weary. "No. No, they haven't. But I'll admit that we've been working pretty hard since coming to the resort. I have learned over the years that if I don't take the time I need to rest and recover, the universe will provide this rest, by force if needed." She graced Anna with a small smile. "I guess there is beauty even in breakdowns, isn't there?" She coughed again, a short bout that left her winded.

"I suppose so," Anna conceded, aching for Elsa and her latent pain. "Doesn't make the breakdown any easier to experience, in my opinion."

"Still, I wish I could have taken you into the pool today. Christmas is coming. You need to dance with your son."

"Oh, sweetie," Anna said, reaching over to touch Elsa's ankle, tucked there on the couch between them. "There will be time yet for dancing, because there is time for all good things."

Elsa's smile grew deeper, touching those beloved wrinkles by her eyes. "Isn't it wonderful to know that good things will yet come? We cannot predict the beauty we will experience, the pain we will traverse, the joy that will blossom in our hearts. But one of the greatest lessons of my life has been this, Anna, that I can put my full and complete trust in my universe and in my God, knowing that all I experience will be to my benefit." Elsa suddenly hissed and rubbed her stomach with one hand. "Even… even this," she breathed.

"You'll make a believer out of me, Elsa," Anna replied, withdrawing her hand. "Honey, please tell me. What can I do to ease you?"

"Your very presence is balm to me." Elsa turned again, and coughed.

"Dig a little deeper, sweetheart. Tell me… as if I were Catriona."

Elsa's eyes widened slightly, and Anna wondered if she had crossed an invisible line, but then Elsa whispered, "Then I would ask to lay my head in your lap, and for you to rub my scalp and play with my hair. For that is what she would do, when I was ailing and lonesome."

Anna smiled and sat up a bit straighter, and then patted her lap. Elsa set down her cup of tea and then, with absent and trembling fingers, pulled the tie off the end of the still-damp braid. With a long sigh, Elsa bent and shuffled until she had laid her head on Anna's lap, her hands pulling the blanket back over her legs, her knees again tucked close to her aching stomach.

Beauty in breakdowns. Oh, yes.

Despite Elsa's pain, her own personal breakdown, Anna could scarcely bear the beauty of this moment, with a sick and ailing Elsa curled on her lap, her hand on Anna's knee. That she could feel it, the weight of her, that clay of her hand, was a testament to Elsa's efforts on Anna's behalf.

All that Anna had regained in the past few months had passed over the palms of Elsa's hands. Anna had been naïve to think that she would be the only one to pay a price. Though she now desperately wished that she would be the only one to pay it, and take this burden from Elsa's body. It was unfair that the universe would exact an equal price from the person who made Anna's transformation possible.

But Elsa was on her lap now, and that was a gift to Anna Arendelle, who had been so bereft of such love and companionship for so many years. So did it truly matter by which means such fidelity came to her?

Making her fingers soft and supple, Anna continued to pick out Elsa's braid, and then she began to rub Elsa's scalp in the same way that Elsa had done for her hundreds of times before. She watched as Elsa's shoulders rose and fell in a blessed exhalation. "Mmm," Elsa murmured as Anna continued to stroke and caress her head.

Anna had a chance to look at the room entire, to see the whole of her experience. Had her therapist always been this thin and frail? Anna looked down the length of Elsa's body, and saw sharpness where only softness had been before; her cheeks were prominent, her elbows and knees angular. How had Anna been so blind?

What was happening inside Elsa? How could it be stopped, how could it be healed?

Could Elsa never have for herself what she gave so freely to others?

The fire crackled and hissed. Elsa breathed and occasionally hummed. Anna's fingers slid and stroked. Time lengthened, grew as soft and supple and loving as Anna's hands upon Elsa's head, as sleek and winsome as those sleek candy fishes of long ago. Those strands of hair she caressed; they were soft and lustrous, white-blond in a way that Anna had never seen before. Everything about Elsa Wolff was striking, was unique.

Was beloved.

Never in her life had Anna dared grace a partner with that particular epithet. She had called Elsa her darling earlier today, and that had been a monumental and earth-shattering moment. Yet darling was only a step towards the most important endearment that could exist.

Beloved.

In feeling those strands of hair between her fingers, in seeing Elsa breathe under the blanket, in knowing how her knees could bend and her toes could curl, this was one endearment that Anna would gladly give to this woman, if only she were allowed.

Anna had never felt this way towards any other living being, not her husband, not her children.

Elsa Wolff was her beloved, her darling, her everything.

It terrified her.

It exhilarated her.

It humbled her.

For it taught her that how she experienced this emotion was only part of what was required; how she portrayed it was yet the more important part. Oh, how she felt love and adoration swell and grow inside her heart, how she felt these words pulse and throb inside her soul, but without sharing her thoughts and feelings, they were lessened and unwhole!

The blessed _naming_ of things. The verbalization of truth. Anna had never before recognized this particular worth.

Dare she finally share this soft, vulnerable, uncertain part of her soul with this woman?

Dare she call her _beloved?_

In this moment, Anna wanted to conduct this naming, to gift Elsa with this word that was more significant than all other words. For this Elsa upon her lap was…

Then Elsa began to cough. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth as the coughing continued unabated.

And then she ripped herself from Anna's lap, reached desperately for the basin at her feet, and began to cough great jagged shredding coughs that surely were rending her lungs into mere quivering pieces of sighing flesh; and with one last wretched and tearing sound, Elsa vomited yet again into the basin, bringing up that humble toast and tea.

Tears formed in Anna's eyes as she rubbed Elsa's back, making soothing noises as Elsa continued to breathe and cough and retch. She could feel the muscles of Elsa's back convulse as she heaved again.

When it was over, Elsa stayed curled over her stomach, her breath fast and shallow. "It's too soon," Anna thought she heard Elsa whisper. "Please, God, no."

"Elsa, I'm calling the resort doctor," Anna said, wiping away her tears, her voice wobbly with concern.

She watched as Elsa wiped her mouth with the back of her hand; Anna immediately handed her an embroidered handkerchief. Elsa used it instead, still bent over and trembling.

"No," Elsa finally breathed, bringing her breathing under her control, lifting herself upward and propping herself on her wrist. She bent her head enough to look at Anna. "This is but a bad spell, Anna. It will pass as they always do."

"Elsa…" Anna warned.

"It's okay, I promise," Elsa whispered. "My old Master told me what to do in situations like these. I still have some ginger left, and I will make some tea. I shouldn't have tried to eat something so soon. Tomorrow is early enough for eating." Anna made a face, and Elsa wearily smiled. "I'm the nurse, Anna. I know what to do."

"You're not being a martyr, are you?" Anna asked, remembering something Elsa had told her a long time ago.

"No. No martyrs here."

Anna let it go, watching as Elsa stumbled to the bell pull to ring for Kate. With all her heart, Anna wished she could just stand on her feet and help Elsa. She would gladly have rinsed the basin, and prepared the ginger tea, and done anything else to aid her. Instead, she stayed on the couch, her wheelchair next to her, and it was the shackle to her spirit that it had been for the last eleven months.

So it was Kate who helped Anna get ready for sleeping that evening, for Elsa had retired early to her chamber, to cough until she passed into a fitful sleep.

Not having expended her restless energy during the day, it took a very long time for the Dowager Baroness to fall asleep that night. When she woke again in the pearly dawn of a new winter day, the first of December, she felt a deep ache in her bones along with a sediment of tiredness that surely etched her skin with age. She felt every one of her fifty-seven years this morning.

The new day did not dawn well for Elsa Wolff, either. After Elsa stumbled from her room to use the bathing chamber, she eventually emerged and allowed Anna to press her hands against her cheeks and forehead, there to feel the steady burn of fever. Her cough deepened, and her shivering seemed endless. Elsa had another hot bath in the morning, and tried to eat a small bowl of plain white rice for her lunch. She managed to keep it down. Then she slept the entire afternoon away.

Anna forced stillness and contemplation upon herself, for she wanted to stay nearby should Elsa need her. She read books, and worked on embroidery, and read letters that her family members had sent. She also practiced moving her knees, ankles and toes, and then drilled herself on how to move independently from the couch to her wheelchair. She slipped and fell only once more; thankfully it had happened whilst Elsa slept, oblivious. Her wrist ached a little as she continued to practice. As the number of attempts grew, so did her skill, and she began to trust that her ankles and legs would support her weight and movement.

After the entire second day had passed and Elsa remained caught within the monstrous coils of this illness, Anna defied her wishes and asked Kate to send in the resort doctor. He came in the evening, after a dinner which Elsa could not eat, and Anna was excluded from the proceedings; she sat and worried in her wheelchair near the crisply burning fire in the lounge as Elsa's bedchamber door was shut behind him.

The examination seemed to take a very long time. Anna could hear the low murmur of voices, but she couldn't distinguish any words. Finally the doctor emerged, and he took a moment to stand near the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss and give his report. "Rest assured, her illness will pass," he said, taking off his glasses to rub them with a handkerchief. Anna immediately exhaled in relief. She watched as he put the glasses back on his face and then he continued, saying, "The greatest cause of the malady is but general exhaustion. I understand that she had come directly from one caregiving position to serve you, and has been in nearly constant service for the past three months. Her reserves have been depleted. If I may be so bold, Lady Skaldenfoss, Miss Wolff simply needs more quiet time and rest. Perhaps an increased diet of beef and leafy greens may also help give her energy."

Anna immediately absorbed all he said and allowed herself only a moment of deep shame. Only a moment, for shame was useless at this point, and wouldn't serve either of them. "I shall arrange it," Anna replied. "Is there anything else?"

"I gave her a dose of laudanum, to help ease her cough and assist her in sleeping. She still needs plenty of rest, with a day or two longer quietly abed or recuperating. She might be drifting now, but she did ask for you to come see her. As you wish."

"Thank you, doctor," Anna said before dismissing him. When he was gone, Anna didn't immediately go into Elsa's bedroom. She sat quietly for a moment and thought of how Elsa had come to her directly from serving Lord Galthe. Not only serving him, but watching him waste away and die of consumption, just like her dear Catriona. She came from that deathspace right into Anna's life, with Anna's pain and misery and even a deathwish. Elsa had worked twelve-hour days, six days a week, often seven. She had sat up with Anna through nightmares; she had spent every ounce of her own strength in reducing Anna's pain. With her own hands she had rubbed away Anna's aches, and rarely had she left Anna's side.

And never had Anna known that Elsa had suffered short bouts of illness, right there in her attic room in Iskall Slott. It was yet another thing she had never deigned to inquire about. Another icy arrow of shame lodged in her heart; this one was harder to ignore. How selfish she had become over the course of her illness, how greedy!

Anna had recognized Elsa's general tiredness and exhaustion time and again, especially since they had come to the resort. She had noticed it, but had done nothing about it. Again, everything had been about her recovery, her rehabilitation.

Anna had enforced her needs, and her needs alone.

An errant thought pierced her with new icicles of shame; had she behaved similarly toward Hans? Had she ignored his needs, had she been so focused on herself that she had not seen his desperation? Had she driven him into the arms of another woman with her distraction, her disdain?

God, what had she done to him?

Her higher self took control. Hans was dead and gone. Nothing would change it. Not anymore.

But she would not treat Elsa even remotely the same way. Even if Anna were still trying to understand what place Elsa had in her life, even if she suffered wondering what Elsa thought of her, none of that should change how she treated Elsa in the here and now.

As she sat there in her wheelchair, her nerves firing, her toes curling, the fire burning before her, Anna took her deepest and most heartfelt desire from the caged wards of her heart and examined it.

Elsa had spoken the truth. Anna desperately wanted to dance with Johan by the lights of the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. She had kept the secret of her progress hidden from him and all her family in her correspondence home, hoping to surprise them with standing, and waltzing, just as she had done a year ago. Thereby proving that darkness could never prevail over the light, that fear could never douse hope, and that miracles could still occur, even in this modern day and age.

Christmas was just barely over three weeks away. Two days ago, Anna had believed it possible. Elsa, her champion, her warder, had made all things possible.

And now?

Now, Anna lifted this desire from her heart, gazed at it in fondness, and then ripped it to shreds and cast it into the flames.

She would not hold to this vain dream, this ridiculous hope. She couldn't even stand on her feet without being in the pool. It was nigh impossible. And, right now, Elsa's health was far more important. The doctor said she needed rest. Anna would give her rest. Anna would give her all.

For time they had, and other dances would come, other opportunities to prove the prevailing of the strong, hopeful, and stout-hearted against all forces of darkness and despair.

There was the slightest twinge of dejection in her heart as Anna turned her back on the crisping curled edges of that dream of hers as it expired in the flames. Her last best dance burned as an ever-clear flame in her heart; it had been 1915, and both of her sons had been home. Anna had taken these dear souls in her hands, and in the last notes of the strings she had tried to commit them to her absent God.

Johan had returned to her. Leif had not.

But even this, was it not somehow her God's design?

Oh, this was a hard thought, and one that Anna had rarely contemplated in the years since. Why should Leif, her beloved son, be born, if only to suffer and die? He had been only twenty years old!

And why did her greatest servant, Elsa Wolff, suffer on Anna's family's behalf, even now?

Evading these thoughts, Anna took a deep breath and then wheeled herself to Elsa's doorway. She softly knocked, and then, at Elsa's breathy assent, entered the dark room. Elsa's own fire was dwindling into coals that fell apart in gentled sparks; the space was bathed in hues of red and orange and grey that still did nothing to liven the paleness of Elsa's face.

"Anna?" she heard Elsa ask, and her voice was thick. She was lying on her side facing the doorway.

"Yes, my darling," Anna replied. "I'm here." She wheeled herself further into the room and then shut the door behind her, closing out the lamps and light of the fire in the lounge. The darkness was near complete for a moment, before Elsa reached out her arm and switched on the lamp near her bedside. It shone harsh white light on her weary and haggard face. Somehow Anna could instantly perceive the weight of the painkiller in her system, for it was clay on her sooty eyelashes, and gravity to her movements.

Even as Anna looked at her, she saw Elsa convulse in a whole-body shiver. "Oh, sweetheart, are you still cold?" Anna asked.

"I just can't seem to get warm," Elsa responded. "These three blankets are like nothing. Oh, my stupid veins."

With that, Anna wheeled closer to Elsa's fireplace, reached for a few pieces of wood, and then, very carefully, leaned forward in her chair to add them to the smouldering coals, hoping that they would ignite. Then she returned to Elsa's bedside, putting out a hand to grasp Elsa's nearest hand.

She was indeed cold; Elsa was always cool to the touch, but now her fingers were like icicles. Anna grasped that nearest hand and held it in both of her own, chafing it a little as she asked, "Is the laudanum helping? How do you feel?"

"Oh, I feel strange," Elsa replied, her voice thick and cumbersome. "Like my tongue is only thinly connected to my mind. At least I'm tired. I could sleep for a week. If only I wasn't so frigging cold. Oh, my kingdom for a hot shower. How I miss hot showers!"

Anna's mind stumbled over Elsa's strange comments. She had never heard Elsa speak quite this way before. Anna then decided on something, and spoke before she could tell herself that it was a bad idea. "Move over, Elsa," she commanded, all sorts of Baroness in her voice.

Elsa stared at her. "Anna?"

"You heard me. Move to the other side of the bed and turn over."

She saw Elsa swallow before she complied, though even then her movements were slow, weighted with tar and opiate. She slowly shifted underneath her sheets and blanket, shuffling to the other side of the somewhat narrow bed.

Anna put her feet on the floor, just as she had been practicing earlier that day. With one mostly smooth movement, she hefted herself off her chair and onto the edge of Elsa's bed. Then she used her still obedient legs to slip under the covers. She arranged the fabric of her dress under the sheets and then reached over to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into chilly darkness.

Not stopping to think, not stopping to reconsider what she was doing, Anna then slipped and slid under the sheets until she was right next to Elsa, her companion still shivering. Her mind momentarily marvelled that she could move her legs so completely, but then she focused on the task at hand. "Come to me, honey," she crooned as she spooned up against the length of Elsa's body, bending her still meek and obedient knees until they were crooked all tight and close to Elsa's legs.

Elsa's skin felt clammy and cold, but Anna didn't shy away from any of it. She would not pause to think, she would not dare to reconsider what she was doing, for she would not halt this blessed and sudden connection. She thought of watching the aurora and how wonderful it had been to be so physically close to her dear friend, how necessary and right the contact had felt. So she deliberately pressed herself against the entire length of Elsa's body, her breasts against Elsa's back, their legs tucked together, and then she put her arm over Elsa's too-small waist.

Anna was swift in telling herself that it was to help Elsa feel warm. She was only doing this to help Elsa. That other reasons might be involved Anna wouldn't acknowledge, at least not now.

Elsa was rigid against her for several dreadful heartbeats of time.

But then Elsa _melted,_ there in the silky darkness, the heat of Anna's body overcoming her defenses. She melted, and sank back against Anna's body and into the pillow under her head as she slowly exhaled.

And then Elsa reached back with her hand, and put it on Anna's dress-clad hip.

And Anna was immediately cast back in precious memory, of the first time that Elsa had been forced to give her laudanum. Unlike all the caregivers before her, Elsa hadn't abandoned her to the opiate alone, she hadn't retreated from the ascendancy of pain in Anna's body. She had stayed with Anna the entire time, that long-fingered hand resting with absolute presence and authority upon Anna's hip.

That had been three months ago.

And now only the darkness saw them. Only the night knew that the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss had climbed into the bed of her nurse and therapist. Only the blackness knew that they were cuddled together, soft and close. More than mere companions. More like lovers.

And the night rejoiced.

Elsa's fingers stroked her hip, in long and languorous swipes that made Anna's breath weak. Then her fingers stilled, and merely rested there. Elsa opened her mouth and exhaled; Anna could feel the movement under her hand, where it rested there on Elsa's waist. When Elsa spoke into the delighted darkness, Anna could hear the downiness of the laudanum sinking ever deeper into her voice, making her words fuzzy, making her truth emerge. "My dear God, Anna, you feel so _good."_

Sudden exultation roared like a tawny lioness throughout Anna's soul. This one sentiment snagged upon the welcoming hooks of her heart.

But then Elsa whispered something else.

"Oh, honey, how am I supposed to resist you?"

There was more than love and affection in those words. There was wretched despair in them as well.

Elsa abruptly shivered again, and Anna automatically pulled her even closer. There was scarcely any light in the room; those recalcitrant logs were not catching on the fire, and Anna could only see the barest edges of light upon Elsa's face and forehead and hair. Yet Elsa's neck and shoulder were right before her; Anna looked at that gauzy expanse of skin, there in the near-darkness, and felt a wrench of absolute desire near tear her apart.

 _How am I supposed to resist you?_ Elsa could well ask, for Anna seemed destined to ask the very same question.

Did Elsa even know what she was saying? Had the laudanum completely loosened her normally restrained and subservient tongue? What secrets could Anna learn in this fragile and trusting darkness?

In this moment, all Anna knew was that she felt the same way. Now that Elsa was in her arms, now that Elsa was soft and supple against her body, now that love and protection roared with that lioness' heart within her, Anna had a hard time resisting everything that Elsa seemed to represent.

That neck before her. It had once confounded her. But no longer.

For it called to her. It whispered of love, of affection, of days of companionship and nights of absolute devotion.

How Anna wanted to kiss it! Oh, how she wanted to brand it with her mouth, and touch it with her tongue, and worship it with the precious velvet that was her lips!

The thought terrified her, so she spoke instead.

"Why must you resist me?" Anna whispered, knowing that she shouldn't ask such a question, but she must. Oh, she must.

For the dream she had had two nights ago reared up strong and mighty inside her; Anna remembered the scent of Elsa's skin as they had embraced each other, she recalled the quality of her breath as they had kissed; and Anna similarly knew it was wrong, it couldn't be true, it was only a dream and must stay relegated to that realm.

So what was this moment that she had orchestrated, this strange twilight between reality and fantasy, between lucidity and painkiller, between wakefulness and sleep?

It appeared that her actions spoke truth more than her tongue ever would. It was increasingly obvious that she could not resist her therapist either. So she had never spoken of the tulips and the moonlight, of Ingrid and the scent of her hair; the memories were there nonetheless. So she had only been sixteen years old; what was time when the heart remembered everything so perfectly and so well?

Of her own choice she had kissed Elsa two nights ago. Of her own volition she had just climbed into Elsa's bed. And now she was holding Elsa tightly, she was snuggled along the entire length of Elsa's beautiful and no-longer-shivering body. Despite all this, Anna couldn't bear to think of the truth that underlined these actions. She kept forcing it away from the front of her mind, denying it space in her thoughts. Did that give her any authority to ask Elsa questions she dared not answer?

Yet the question had been asked, and she longed to know the answer. She well knew how dearly she regarded her Elsa, how she thought of her in secret and shy moments. But how did Elsa think of her?

Long moments passed. Elsa coughed a few times, and then her breathing resumed its slow and peaceful rhythm. Anna could feel Elsa slipping deeper into sleep, and she resisted the urge to ask this question again. The words of the doctor resounded in her mind. Elsa needed rest. So much rest.

But then Elsa spoke.

And as she spoke, Anna realized that she was speaking from the very precipice of sleepy oblivion, for her words were tangled and confused. "I dream of her sometimes, Cati. I dream of my lady. I want to love her, Catriona. But there's so little time."

Anna's heart was pierced with the spikes of this truth. Elsa wasn't even speaking to her anymore, she was speaking to the memory of her dead lover, but Elsa was speaking _of_ her, and that was just as precious and dear. Anna easily remembered other words Elsa had spoken, true and painful words.

 _Our separation will be agony, won't it?_

She couldn't help herself. The darkness and intimacy compelled her next words as Anna whispered, "So stay with me. Stay with me, Elsa, just stay with me forever. Please."

She felt one last downy exhale. The hand on her hip softened, and then slid off as Elsa fell asleep.

Tears formed behind Anna's eyes, and she bowed her forehead to place it against Elsa's shoulder. It was too little, too late. In this moment, Anna believed she would never get closer to love than this, this beloved woman in her arms.

Pain crested in her heart, making her breath shallow; her body trembled with the effort of keeping her tears at bay. She lifted her head and looked at Elsa in the darkness, the slight outline of her. She felt the steady rise and fall of Elsa's breath.

Elsa was asleep, so Anna dared to lean slightly forward. She pressed her lips against the skin of Elsa's neck in a fervent kiss.

With that, her heart clove apart.

There was no denying it. Not any longer. Truth stared her in the face, truth in her actions, which spoke louder than her lips ever did.

From the moment that Elsa had blazed into her life, Anna had loved her.

But now, knowing Elsa's preference for her own gender, hearing those desperate words Elsa had just spoken _(how am I supposed to resist you?)_ , Anna felt that love in her heart abruptly and magnificently change, in the space of a single heartbeat.

One heartbeat.

In that one heartbeat, her love for Elsa stretched, adapted, and became sleek and strong and mighty. Perhaps this great revolution had been taking place ever since watching the aurora with Elsa, occurring somewhere out in the great ocean of her subconscious, but it had chosen this very moment to come to shore and devastate all of Anna's coastlines. The world as she had known it was obliterated.

 _True love is hard to come by. I should know_ , Anna had said that night.

Yet here it was. Within her arms. Like a gift from the very heavens.

Anna could no longer deny the truth that now appeared so forcefully and resilient in her breast.

She had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with Elsa Wolff.

She, a Dowager Baroness of Norway, was in love with another woman. Not just any woman, either. Her nurse. Her therapist.

Her light. Her life.

Her Elsa.

Yes, this was love all right. It was love, and Anna knew it, for it caused fresh agony to assault her heart, new despair to ravage her senses. From the moment she had kissed Ingrid under the stars at the age of sixteen she had known that true love would be a disaster. She had known the sacrifices she would be forced to make, the stilted life she would be forced to lead. How she had wanted to run away from it all, disappear into obscurity, and forge her own fortunes!

But her family would have been ruined. And once her father had had a stroke, all her family's fate had rested upon her young shoulders.

Duty had won. Responsibility had taken over.

But hadn't Anna sacrificed enough? Her husband was dead, her children were grown, and like a bolt of lightning this woman had appeared in her life. Saving Anna's life. Saving Anna's soul. Showering her with affectionate service.

Showering her with love.

And what did Anna feel in return?

 _For once in your life, Anna, don't run from this. Don't hide. Don't pretend._

 _Accept it for the truth it is._

 _Let it pass through you. Let it take you to the other side._

Anna closed her eyes again and tried to calm down, allowing herself this opportunity to sink into awareness and experience this moment that she had created. She felt Elsa's curvy body along her own. Her hand rose and fell on Elsa's stomach as she breathed. The beloved scent of Elsa's perfume was smudged with the faintest tints of sweat and sickness. This body before her was so beloved and so incredibly rare; in all the world there was no other Elsa Wolff. No other person had experienced the same trials, the same difficulties. No other body had suffered from falls, been injured through war, yet nursed others through disease and heartache and consequence. Elsa's universe was singular and unique, her stories infinitely precious, her memories divine.

How rare and beautiful and wondrous she was, this beloved woman who slept in Anna's arms! Was it any wonder that Anna had fallen so desperately and completely in love with her?

 _Oh god, how can I resist her?_

Sudden grief overwhelmed Anna's heart; she placed her forehead yet again on Elsa's neck and simply breathed her in.

And despite the freshness of her emotions, the baldness of the sentiment she had finally admitted to herself, Anna could feel sleep sidling close to her, all soft and downy like opium, like laudanum. She felt herself beginning to drift ever closer to its welcoming embrace.

She fought its beckoning fingers of soft down, for she knew she could not stay here, not for the entire night. It was one thing to hold Elsa, and warm her until she slept, and another thing entirely to sleep within the same sheets.

Heartsore and aching, Anna began to mentally prepare herself for withdrawing to her own chambers. There to spend yet another night lonesome and yearning.

Elsa began to twitch, her eyes rapidly moving under the lids. Then, to her surprise, Elsa suddenly jerked in her arms, her arms and legs thrashing. A short and ugly cry escaped her lips. "The thunder," she gasped. "Oh the waves, the lightning!"

Adrenaline spiked all Anna's nerves. Her heart yammering in her throat, Anna stroked Elsa's arm and murmured, "Hush, my darling. I'm here. It's just a dream."

For a moment it seemed as if Elsa would settle. Her limbs became heavy once again.

But then she twitched, and moaned. The sound was guttural and harsh. "Mom!" she cried. "No!"

Anna didn't think it was possible to be any physically nearer her love, her companion, but she somehow curled even closer to Elsa. She curled her hand around Elsa's hand in an attempt to softly bring her to wakefulness. "Elsa, it's okay. You're dreaming. Wake up."

Two heartbeats later, Elsa's entire body convulsed yet again, her whole body thrashing with a spasm. It was enough to displace them; Elsa began to scramble in the sheets, turning to face Anna. Anna's hand slid over the satin of Elsa's nightgown as Elsa turned. Anna could barely see her in the scant light of the room, but she could easily see that Elsa's eyes were open and wild and yet still clouded with the laudanum. Small wonder dreams and phantasms assaulted her, with the opiate opening the door to the mansion of her memories. With the Sandman still enchanting her eyes with the grit of dreams and non-reality.

Elsa now faced Anna; she was blinking and trembling. "This is no dream," she whispered, her voice tenuous and shaky. Was she even fully awake? Anna thought not. Leif had suffered from nightmares sometimes, and said and did things he never after remembered. "I'm dying, sweetheart," Elsa continued, clutching Anna's lower arm. "Oh, god, my world is ending. Oh, my lady…"

"No," Anna protested, her alarm magnifying. "It's only a nightmare. Elsa, I'm here…"

"Anna Arendelle died decades ago. In September of 1924, of sudden infection. Oh, the lightning is orange! Can't you see it? Can't you hear the thunder? Who will save me?" Elsa ducked her head and tried to cover her ears.

Anna couldn't understand anything Elsa said; her words made no sense whatsoever. So she filed them away deep in the archives of her abundant and clever mind, even as she searched for some way to comfort the woman she loved.

Elsa's whole body was shaking. She kept turning her head back and forth in some sort of infinite negation. "Not again, don't take me again, don't take me away…" Elsa whispered, her eyes screwed shut now, her hands still over her ears.

So Anna lifted her hands and grasped Elsa's hands, halting this frantic motion. Elsa's eyes flew open in surprise. Her lips parted. Breath tumbled from her lips.

For several heartbeats Elsa only stared at her. Her eyes were wide and clouded, her breath tumultuous, her body trembling in minute spasms.

And Anna knew that they were but a heartbeat away from kissing each other. But if she kissed Elsa here and now, under the influence of laudanum and nightmares, Elsa might never forgive her. Giving comfort was one thing. Taking advantage was another.

So Anna held Elsa's face, but then she said with all the firmness of the Baroness in her voice, "Hush now, Elsa. I'm here. You're here. Nothing is happening. Hush now, my darling."

It seemed to do the trick. One final shock rippled through Elsa's body, but then Anna saw her eyes slowly come into focus. Elsa took a deep breath, one that Anna somehow felt all the way down to her toes. "Anna?" she whispered, her voice as small and confused as Leif's had been, when he had been but a boy beset by these fell mangonels of shadowed dreams. He had dreamed of lightning once when he was a teenager, and had required much soothing afterward.

"Yes," Anna replied. "I'm here."

"You're alive?"

A lump of grief and wonder appeared in Anna's throat to hear the surprise and wretchedness in Elsa's voice. What had been in Elsa's dreams, that she exhibited such raw emotion, such astonishment at Anna being alive? Speaking over that lump in her throat, Anna whispered, "Yes, dearest, of course I'm alive."

Elsa made a dire, miserable noise of wonder mixed with grief as she abruptly launched herself against Anna's body, the force of it bearing her on her back against Elsa's bed. Elsa wrapped both of her arms around Anna's body and burrowed near and close to her heart, still trembling.

Anna once again tempered a shivering bolt of longing and desire and soothed herself by rubbing Elsa's back and making soft noises. She told herself to stop being so delighted by this circumstance, by having Elsa so utterly in need.

But then Elsa said something Anna could not comprehend.

Her arms wrapped around Anna, her head on Anna's heart, Elsa whispered, her voice still drizzled with laudanum and fright, "The book said you died in September 1924. You died, Anna, no one was there to save you. But you're not dead, are you? Oh, I can feel your heart beating. Thank God." And she abruptly clutched Anna even tighter.

Anna's mouth immediately formed a question, _"What book?"_ but then she didn't release it to the air. She wouldn't understand the answer any better than the question at this time of night and with Elsa in such a state. She would save her inquiries for daylight and the clarity that came with the sun.

So Anna merely continued to rub Elsa's back, slowly moving down from her shoulders to her waist. The fabric of her nightgown was slippery and cool, disobedient under Anna's curious fingers.

Yet she ventured down and down with her hands, rubbing and soothing, waiting as Elsa began to calm herself once again.

There.

My God.

Anna's breath caught in her throat as the tips of her fingers encountered ridges of scar tissue. She ran her fingers lightly over them, once, and then twice, tracing their edges, their dread lines. From deep within her chest sorrow accumulated like Elsa's nightmarish storm; she held the lightning and thunder of her grief and regret within her as her hands continued to investigate those awful scars. Ridges and lines that had been obscured by layers of clothing, until now.

For the first time ever, she was just that close to Elsa's bare skin.

Debris landed in her throat like clods of dirt and hurling bloodied bodies following enemy fire. Anna had never seen war, but she had imagined it. She had heard what her sons had whispered to her, in quiet conference during dark swatches of night. They told her how the Great War had tried to rip their humanity from them, that same humanity she had endeavoured so hard to instil.

Leif's hot fingers in hers, his eyes glassy with fever, his voice low as he begged her to care for his wife, his unborn child.

These scars on Elsa's skin were intimately connected to the last dying breaths of her beloved son.

Filled with wonder yet again at the seeming coincidence of it all, Anna rubbed Elsa's back and thought of the Spring Offensive, and Leif, and the consequences of kindness. Her palms were heated and inquisitive as she rubbed the entire expanse of Elsa's lower back; finally she could perceive the burns that Elsa had mentioned, for the skin was smoother there.

And there, upon the other side, a particular ridge of skin with strange notches. Surely this was the surgical scar where Elsa's poor kidney had been removed. Was this the only cause of Elsa's current illness? Oh, if only Elsa could be well!

A soft murmur of absolute pleasure, small and kittenish and delightful, came from Elsa's mouth. The hard clatter of Elsa's heartbeat was slowing under the onslaught of Anna's attention and affection.

"Oh, baby," Elsa whispered as Anna stroked her skin. "That feels wonderful."

 _Baby?_ Anna had never been called baby before; the sound was exquisite. Although, in this moment, Anna felt she could not take claim for it. She wasn't even sure Elsa was speaking to her; perhaps that word was intended for Elsa's all-but-wife, Catriona.

Oh, what was Anna truly doing here in Elsa's bed with her therapist so beset by pain and laudanum and exhaustion? Would Elsa remember any of this at all upon waking? Would she forgive Anna this great intrusion?

Her tight grip on Anna's body began to soften as Elsa edged closer to sleep once more. "Sleep, my darling. You need to sleep," Anna whispered as she continued to rub Elsa's back.

She felt Elsa take a long inhale and slow exhale, and then Elsa sleepily moved her left hand. It had been tucked just under Anna's body, near her waist, when she had embraced her. But now she trailed it up Anna's side, slow and sleep-sodden. Anna inhaled as a shiver of ardour struck through her veins; ardour that suddenly exploded as that beloved hand came to a rest upon Anna's breast with just a hint of a squeeze.

Anna's whole body went rigid as she clamped down her raging desire. In this moment, her body cared not a whit for the fact that she was 57 years old, that she was a Dowager Baroness of Norway, and that she was in bed with her female therapist. All her body wanted was to _respond_.

But then a thought came ghosting to her, like it came from that aurora-soul within.

 _There will be time for love as well, because there is time for all good things._

So Anna relaxed, and breathed again. She stopped stroking Elsa's body and simply held her. Elsa's breathing had already softened and deepened once again, entering a slow and steady rhythm.

And for the second time that night, Elsa fell asleep in Anna's arms.

Anna fought off the clouded edges of sleep. She waited until she was absolutely certain that Elsa was deeply asleep before she began to extricate herself from Elsa's embrace. Elsa murmured something and reached out for her, but Anna continued to climb out of the bed. It was far too tempting to stay there. She slid off the bed and pivoted into her waiting wheelchair. The room was chilly now; she already missed the warmth of Elsa's body. She settled in her chair and then turned back to tuck the blankets over Elsa's arms and close to her face.

She wrapped a tendril of white hair back behind Elsa's ear and then cupped Elsa's hair with her hand, wishing with all her heart that she could just stay. What if Elsa suffered from another bad dream?

Sudden inspiration gripped her; Anna swiftly untied her braid and selected the longest hair she could find. With a sharp tug she plucked it from her head. Dredging an old English charm from deep within her memory, she then pantomimed using the hair to bind a recalcitrant and balky horse and whispered, "He walked by day, and he walked by night, until such time as he her found, he her beat and he her bound, until her troth she to him plight, she would not come to him that night."

Smiling a little in memory of her mother's ancient charm against nightmares, Anna placed that single hair on Elsa's pillow. Then she kissed her fingertips and pressed them against Elsa's head. Elsa didn't move.

"Sleep, beloved," Anna whispered. "Sleep dreamless."

Anna finally wheeled herself out of Elsa's room, gently closing the door behind her. Their sitting room was softly wreathed in dying firelight. Anna went to her writing desk, turned on the electric lamp, and took a spare sheet of paper. With her elegant script, she swiftly penned down some of the things she had heard this night. Her memory was strong, but she knew it could be capricious at times, bending and morphing words. She would rather have truth in ink.

Ink was quite truthful. So she used ink, and she penned truth.

 _I have only one kidney. Things get hard._

 _God, Anna, you feel so good. How am I supposed to resist you?_

 _I dream of my lady. I want to love her, but there's so little time._

 _The thunder, the waves, the lightning! Mom, no!_

 _I'm dying. My world is ending._

And then came the strangest words of all. Anna closed her eyes, allowing the words to float back to her on the skin of the endless sea that had momentarily connected her to the woman she dearly loved. When she opened her eyes again, her pen flowed easily across the page; the marks she created made complete sense, though the words did not.

 _Anna Arendelle died decades ago. In September of 1924, of sudden infection._

 _The lightning is orange. Don't let it take me again._

 _Anna, you're alive?_

 _The book said you died, no one was there to save you._

Then Anna scrawled the last two words, even though she knew she would remember them forever.

 _Oh, baby._

What exactly had that nightmare entailed? Lightning, thunder, waves – was it the storm that had taken the life of her mother and brother? But what on earth had she meant about this book, her strange conviction that Anna had died of infection in September of 1924?

Anna's breath came in a painful squeeze as she remembered how bewildered Elsa had been, asking if Anna were alive. How swift had been Elsa's glorious response, as she launched herself at Anna and held her tight.

Anna closed her eyes as she remembered Elsa's hand coming up to cup and hold her breast. She had held it, like water cups and holds a boat. Oh, how glorious!

Yet, Anna wanted to weep. Did she need more proof of how Elsa loved her? Did she need more evidence of her own soul's response?

 _Hope floats forever on the skin of the endless sea._

Anna wanted to believe. But all appeared quite hopeless. What space for love could they possibly create, what union could they possibly experience before it would all come to an end? Anna could scarcely bear the thought of Elsa's departure even now. If she loved Elsa, loved her body, mind, and soul, if she stitched the two of them completely together, their separation would be more than agony. It would be unbelievable torture. Hans' death would be as nothing in comparison; a harsh thought, but a true one.

The bubble they had created, here in Scarborough, could not last forever. Anna was closer to walking day by day. Elsa's place in her life would inevitably end.

Anna forced her eyes open. She saw the sitting room of their little apartment. The paintings, the tasteful sculptures, the ornate mantle over the fire with the crystal flagons of sherry. All of it spoke of her station, her privilege, her duty.

Anna folded this piece of paper and put it on her lap, and then she turned off the lamp and wheeled into her bedchamber. It took a while to struggle out of her dress and into her nightgown yet she was determined not to ring for Kate. She was breathless and her wrist ached a little when she finally awkwardly hauled herself into her bed, rejoicing in how her legs continued to obey her even if they were clumsy and thick. She took that paper and tucked it in the middle of her book, wanting to review it again in the morning when she was somewhat clear-headed.

After she had settled herself in her large and empty bed, Anna closed her eyes and continued to think of everything she had experienced in the last few hours as she braided her hair into two simple braids for sleeping. She thought of Elsa's strange manner, the words and conduct loosened by laudanum.

That hand on her hip.

That hand on her breast.

Finished with her braids, Anna snuggled down in her bed and grasped the empty pillow next to her. She embraced it, holding it close to her chest, remembering how beautiful it had been to hold her girl in her arms, to warm her and comfort her.

And underneath it all was the bedrock of love she had unearthed, a foundation vast and strong, great like the shoulders of Atlas himself. It was mighty enough to bear the weight of their future, whatever future that was. It had to.

For Anna Arendelle knew that she was in love with Elsa Wolff, the kind of love that made her heart race and her soul quiver and her body scream out in desire and want.

She held her pillow, and her thoughts became muzzy, and her desperate imagining turned the pillow into her most desired lover, a lover she could kiss senseless, whose breast she could touch, whose neck she could finally completely explore.

Finally sleep came, taking Anna further upon the wonder and endless torment of her dreams.

...

A/N: Spring is coming to Europe, and to my home here in Prague. With spring comes renewed hope, life, and vitality. My best wishes to all my readers for a most joyous spring, wherever you happen to be. Love, Jen


	20. Chapter 19 - Tulips

**Chapter Nineteen**

 **Tulips**

Anna woke the next morning and absently stretched in her bed before realizing that she was actually stretching. A broad smile graced her lips as she focused on the stretch, on how her toes and ankles vibrated with energy. She absorbed the luxuriousness of this sensation for some time; would she ever tire of being able to commune with the consciousness of her nerves, with the reconnected glory of her legs and feet?

She hoped not.

Anna couldn't think of her feet without thinking of the woman who had returned them to her. Whose tireless efforts on Anna's behalf had brought her feet and legs out of the depths. It was this woman who now suffered because of all that effort.

How did her nurse fare this morning? Had she been able to sleep through the night? Anna didn't need to reference the piece of paper to remember all the strange things Elsa had said under the influence of pain and laudanum last night. She prayed for the right opportunity to talk to Elsa about all of it.

Equal measures of remorse and elation filled her as she thought of holding Elsa the night before. She had forced Elsa into this embrace, had asked questions that Elsa had been doomed to answer under the influence of laudanum, yet those answers had caused such a revolution to occur in the Baroness' mind!

Would Elsa forgive her this intrusion? God, could she forgive herself?

She mentally shook a finger at herself. What's done is done. This might be an entire hogshead of spilled milk, but there was no use crying over it. Especially as the contact she had made with her therapist had produced such a revolution in her heart and mind; surely this was the work of the universe itself, spinning beauty from all chaos, even the chaos of sickness and laudanum and immense confusion.

Anna glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was just shy of eight o'clock in the morning. Hopefully Elsa was still sleeping, and sleeping dreamless. Just how effective had her mother's old charm been? She struggled into a robe, hoisted herself out of her bed and into her wheelchair and wheeled herself out of her room.

The sitting room was dark and quiet, though a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace; Kate must have already been here. Anna opened the curtains to peer out on a winter dawn, silvery with hoarfrost and fog. Then she turned and wheeled herself to Elsa's door. She just about knocked, and then decided instead to just cautiously open the door just a crack, to be sure Elsa was all right.

Anna peered in. The room was stuffy and chilly, and Elsa was motionless under her three layers of blankets. Anna waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and saw that Elsa's shoulders rose and fell as she breathed and slept.

Relieved to see Elsa still deeply asleep, Anna went back into the sitting room and rang for Kate.

She had finished her breakfast, and was lingering over the newspaper and her cup of tea, considering asking Kate to draw her a bath, when she heard Elsa's bedroom door open. She looked over and saw Elsa creeping from her room, her step slow, her hair quite dishevelled, her eyes as yet unfocused. Elsa seemed not to notice her; she was bent on entering the bathing chamber.

So there she went, sole of purpose, and Anna only watched.

If Anna had thought that the sight of Elsa so rumpled and homely could erase her feelings of the night before, that was quickly demolished as her eyes softened and her heart twisted just to see the sight of her. Yes, even like this.

For even now she remembered how it had felt to have Elsa's hand on her breast, to have Elsa's words throbbing in the eager darkness. She felt the love and desire she had uncovered radiating even now within her heart.

 _Oh, Anna, you've got it bad, haven't you?_

Yes, she supposed she did. And, despite her confusion and her uncertainty, she wouldn't exchange any of this for all the tea in China.

Her newspaper abandoned, her tea cooling in her cup, Anna waited for Elsa to appear from the bathing chamber. Her ears were attuned to any sound; thankfully there was no retching, no vomiting. Yet Elsa still coughed, deep, hacking sounds, and then there was the sound of water running.

Anna Arendelle won her first small war against the Baroness in her mind as she remained attentive to Elsa's emergence from this room, not hiding behind her newspaper or pretending interest in her tepid tea. Elsa came forth, her eyes clearer now, her feet wrapped in adorably heavy socks. She was wearing a thick robe, and she smiled as she approached the Dowager Baroness.

"May I sit?" she asked, waving at the couch.

"You don't have to ask, of course you may," Anna chided, waving her hand at the seat before her. She folded her newspaper and set it down on the table.

Elsa sat down, with a slight oomph of air, right next to Anna. Before she could speak, Anna asked, "Good morning, my dear. How do you fare?"

Her hair was still a bit rumpled, with one lock that seemed determined to fall in front of her eyes. Anna thought it adorable, though Elsa tried to pull it back behind her ear. "I slept like a stone," Elsa admitted. "I blame the doctor. So much of last night is foggy and unclear…" Her voice drifted to silence, and she could not know the pain that suddenly resulted in Anna's heart. Had Elsa forgotten all of it?

But then Elsa turned her head and looked fondly at Anna, though a question was undeniably upon her cheeks and brows. "Please tell me, honey, did you come see me last night? My memory is being very fickle at the moment, but I seem to recall having you near."

Anna swallowed and told the truth. "Yes, I came in to see you," she slowly replied. "I saw that you were shivering, so I built up the fire. When that didn't help, I actually climbed into the bed with you for a while, hoping to warm you."

Elsa slowly blew out her breath. "So I didn't dream all that…" she whispered. "It seemed so dreamlike to me…" Then her eyes focused again, and her cheeks coloured in what might have been embarrassment, and she said, "Thank you, my lady. I appreciate it."

Anna inwardly winced as she heard those words once more. My lady. This time they had not the possessive quality she had detected two days before when Elsa first fell ill and spoke to her from the floor. No, this time Anna felt only distance, the same distance she had achingly detected in Elsa's words the night after she had told Anna about Catriona. Oh, what if she was only a lady to this woman, and not much more! How could she be anything more, when Elsa had already experienced the true love of her life?

Her heart twisting in hidden pain, Anna replied, "You are welcome, my dear."

Elsa turned her head and coughed into her elbow. The coughing spell was short, but wretched. When she turned back to Anna, Elsa wilted back into the cushions, and her eyes were wan. She moistened her lips and said, rather unexpectedly, "I don't want this, Anna. I had hoped to be better this morning, at least enough to get you back into the pool." She sighed. "But it looks like it will take at least another day more."

Now Anna felt as if she were on firm ground. "We have time, Elsa," she said, reaching out to touch and hold Elsa's knee. "Your health is important to me. I can only do so much for you, though I dearly wish I could do more. The doctor told me that you need to rest. So please, Elsa, it's all right. You can rest. I want you to rest. With all my heart I want you to be well."

"I wish no less for you," Elsa murmured. "I've dreamed of watching you dance."

Anna slightly reeled from these soft, tremendous words. She vibrated yet again under the throes of absolute love and devotion, yet she sought to hide the brilliance of this adoration she now felt for Elsa Wolff, not wanting to shock or scare her.

So Anna squeezed Elsa's knee before withdrawing her hand, saying, "I will dance, Elsa. At this point in your extraordinary care, there is no stopping it. It is inevitable, my dear. The endless night of my injuries has reached its end, and all that remains is a most glorious dawn. Whether it comes one day, or another, matters not at this point. What matters is that you are well."

To her surprise, Elsa leaned back slightly in the couch cushions and regarded Anna with a curious, attentive expression. "Such eloquence," she said quietly. "Such faith. Some of your gifts, my lady, I feel scarce able to receive."

"Is it because you believe yourself undeserving?" Anna asked, trying to divine Elsa's intent. She had always adored wordplay, but not with such volleys against the heart. Why did Elsa value herself so meanly? "Why would you say such a thing?"

For several moments, it appeared that Elsa could not speak. Her mouth worked, Anna could see the movements beneath the pearly expanse of her skin, but then Elsa finally said, "Perhaps, my lady, after all this time, I still do."

Quiet in the room, tempered by the sounds of the fire in the hearth.

"Touch my toes," Anna softly commanded.

Elsa didn't move.

"Do it. Please."

Elsa leaned forward, and grasped Anna's toes just as she had done a thousand times or more, when Anna had been prone and paralyzed on her bed, when her toes had been incapable of feeling or doing anything. She had grasped them, and held them, as if it comforted her and not Anna alone.

As Elsa gripped her toes, Anna moved them in a grand and extravagant wiggle.

Then Anna lifted her entire foot off the plate of her wheelchair, using her somewhat obedient knees to do so, and actually flicked Elsa off her feet.

"You are a ninny," Anna said as Elsa sat back against the couch cushions, her face now flushed. Anna reached over to the tea service and poured Elsa a cup of tea, adding a single spoonful of sugar and a little cream to it, just as she had seen Elsa do many times before.

"A ninny."

"You heard me." Anna handed over the cup of tea and Elsa gave her a nod in thanks.

A smile finally appeared on Elsa's lips. "Pray tell, my lady."

"Then listen well, Elsa Wolff. To say after all this time and effort that you are undeserving of thanks actually smacks of arrogance. Did you learn this at the monastery? Being modest only goes so far. But to deny gratitude, and to deny your own influence in good deeds, this is not honouring your God. This is denying the expression of His divinity in your own life."

Elsa only stared at her for some time as she blew on the surface of her tea. The clock on the mantle ticked away. The fire inhaled and exhaled.

"Just when will I stop underestimating you?" Elsa whispered. "My lady, my… Anna. I daresay I made you nothing more than your title for a time. I believed you hampered by your station, by those words that supplanted your name. Thank you for teaching me otherwise. Thank you for teaching me the truth of being a lady."

Anna shivered as she heard those words. They were heartfelt, and sincere, yet incomplete. For Anna felt she had not been a true lady last night, as she had shimmied into Elsa's bed, and asked questions Elsa had been forced to answer under the influence of laudanum.

"Then, as a true lady, I must ask… would you forgive me my intrusion into your bedchamber last night? And, I dare say, into your bed?" Anna couldn't help but blush, so her voice tumbled on as she continued, "I only wanted to warm you, Elsa. I promise. You were so very cold."

Elsa had set aside her tea long enough to fluff a blanket over her knees, as if she were cold again. Anna instantly wished she could be the one to warm her. As soon as Anna had spoken, Elsa looked sharply at her and said, "If such forgiveness were even required, still I would grant it. I only know that you comforted me when I desperately needed such comfort." Finished with her fussing, Elsa leaned back and asked, her voice small, "Did I say anything strange last night, honey? Laudanum has always loosened my tongue in ways I can never predict. I hope I didn't say or do anything scandalous." She took her tea and sipped, her eyes brittle and keen.

 _No more than I said or did,_ Anna thought to herself. Aloud, she asked, "Would it be so terrible if you did? My dear, you once told me that I needed a safe place. Now that you have agreed to be my friend and not simply my caregiver, could this place not be your safe place as well? If there is anywhere you could be yourself, without fear of censure or reprisal, let it be this place. Please."

Elsa seemed to absorb her words, her face pensive. "You have the strangest knack of taking my own words and turning them back on me," she said quietly. "Yet with all the grace and empathy of a true lady. For that is what you are. More than anyone I have ever encountered in my life."

"Do not fear, Elsa. I may ask you some questions later about what you said last night, but, for now, I only hope that you slept well." Anna thought of the charm she had intoned, and the single hair she had placed on Elsa's pillow. "Did you have any more bad dreams?"

"More bad dreams?" Elsa asked. "Your very question begs the answer that I must have dreamt something while with you." Then she took a deep breath and answered, "In fact, no. I slept dreamless, I think. If there were dreams, then they scattered upon the moment of my wakening. As they often do, with me…"

"My charm worked, then." Anna deliberately said this, hoping to raise Elsa further from the dregs of her supposed inadequacies.

Elsa blinked. "Your charm?"

"I didn't tell you? My mother was a hedge witch," Anna jubilantly lied. "Well, no, not entirely, but she was English, and my father Norwegian, and she brought all sorts of odd traditions and customs to our estate. You had a nightmare last night while I was with you. But my mother had taught me a charm against nightmares, which I used. I left then, hoping that you would sleep dreamless."

"I wish I could have known your mother," Elsa muzzily said.

She still seemed sleepy and ill. In this moment, Anna was at a crossroads. Should she reveal the truth, or leave it obscured? Would Elsa even remember this conversation, once it was over?

Fortune favours the brave.

"Do you?" Anna whispered. "She had her nuggets of wisdom, my mother. Just as she had her secret bottles of sherry. And whisky. And vodka."

For a wonder, Elsa's eyes became instantly focused and clear, though Anna could actually _see_ Elsa's effort in remaining so. "Was she an alcoholic, Anna?" Elsa softly asked.

"Yes," Anna breathed. "And her drinking only got worse after the death of my father."

"When did your father die?"

"When I was twenty-one years old. Three months after my marriage to Hans."

"That's an awfully young age for someone to lose their father."

"Yes, it was. I could have used him, his warmth and his advice, in the first few years of my marriage."

Anna wondered if Elsa detected the softer tone in her voice as she spoke of her father, for Elsa then asked, "What was he like, if I may ask?"

"Of course you may ask. He was an educated, erudite man, who loved the arts and all spirited discourse. He was a bit of a stoic, taking after the teachings of Marcus Aurelius. One of his favourite quotes was this, that 'the soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts', which meant that he always tried to keep his own thoughts, words, and deeds simple and clean. As an earl, he ruled a larger area than my late husband. I may be rhapsodizing about him a little, but he made a great impression on me, even though I was often away from the estate for my schooling."

Elsa snuggled deeper into her blanket, and tucked her feet under her knees. "What happened to him, Anna?"

Even after all these years, Anna hated to remember those months. But she would not deny Elsa her question, and she gave an honest answer. "He had a sudden stroke, which left half his face blurred and frozen. His senses were muddied, and his mind wasn't always clear. Very soon after his stroke, in one of his better moments, we sat up half the night to look for a suitable husband for me to marry. Together we scoured the peerage of both Norway and England. In order to keep my family from ruin, I had to marry well. Eventually we came across Hans Arendelle. Being only slightly my senior, and due to inherit the Barony of Skaldenfoss, he was an obvious choice. My dowry was sizable; my male cousin would inherit my father's estate, but I had money to take into the marriage with me. I eventually realized that a great deal of Hans' decision to marry me came from the dowry I brought to his suffering estate."

Elsa's expression was nigh indecipherable as she listened to Anna speak. What was she thinking? Oh, how Anna wished she could just ask!

Anna then continued, "Over the year of our courtship, my father's health steadily deteriorated, despite all our care. He wasn't even capable of standing with me at the altar in the church on my wedding day; by that time he was stuck in a wheelchair." Anna paused; she hadn't really thought of her father in a long time, and wondered what he would think of her altered circumstances.

"As I mentioned, he had a second stroke three months later, and died instantly. It shattered my mother. She retreated to my aunt's estate back in England, and I rarely saw her after the funeral. I was never as close to her as I was to my father; I think we both secretly welcomed this… drifting apart. The sea between Norway and England is not so vast, but it was vast enough."

"You were near orphaned, it seems," Elsa said quietly. "To lose your father and be so far from your mother, in both distance and temperament. My dear, how did you survive those early years?"

Anna was surprised to find that she was near tears. "I closed myself off, Elsa. Hans was no help. He was gentle and kind enough to me during our courtship, but soon showed his true colours. He often belittled me, discouraged me, even as he repeatedly forced himself into my bed in order to beget an heir. So I cut myself off from all emotion and lived as shallow a life as possible. Did I not, I would have driven myself to despair."

Elsa's face had hardened as Anna spoke of Hans. Leaning forward, she asked, "What happened next? I mean, how did you change, to become the sort of woman to operate secret soup kitchens and raise such wonderful children?"

"I am slightly ashamed to say how long it took. I gave birth to Johan, and then to my twin girls. It was Leif who changed me. There was something about that baby boy of mine; the moment I first held him in my arms, my frozen heart thawed. And once the thaw began, nothing on earth could stop it. The fire of my spirit that had been doused with my loveless marriage began to burn anew. My great regret, among several that I hoard, is that I never got the chance to tell my son how he saved me."

Elsa opened her mouth seemingly to ask another question, but then she turned her head and began to cough into her elbow. She coughed and coughed, and Anna saw how she shakily set aside the cup of tea so she could curl over her stomach. Anna couldn't help herself; she reached out to hold Elsa's knee once again, her face tight with worry. "Oh, sweetie," she breathed.

To her surprise and pleasure, Elsa reached over and took Anna's hand, to hold it while she shook with final dry wretched coughs.

When the coughing fit had passed, Elsa exhaled a rather shaky breath as she leaned into the armrest of the couch. Her eyes were so soft and vulnerable as she looked at Anna. "Gods, that actually hurts," she softly admitted.

Anna squeezed her hand in sympathy, even as Elsa continued, "Sweetheart, I wish I could stay with you longer, and speak of these things. I appreciate you sharing them with me, so very much." Yet again she turned her head and coughed.

"You can go," Anna whispered. "I meant what I said earlier, Elsa. I just want you to be well. I can see how wretched you feel. Go lie down for a while."

Elsa's face softened, yet she remained a moment longer, holding her hand. "I hope that with some rest and maybe a bit of rice or toast, I should be well enough to take a small walk this afternoon in the gardens. Would that interest you?"

"Yes."

"Can I draw you a bath before I lie down?"

"No. Kate will be serving me today. Please, Elsa, do what you need to do in order to feel well. Don't worry about me. I'd rather worry about you."

Elsa finally smiled again, though it was low and waxen. "It's been a very long time since someone worried about me. I'd forgotten how lovely it could be." She turned Anna's palm over in her hand, and stroked it with her other hand, even as she continued, "Truly, my heart, thank you for sharing these things with me. I have more questions I would like to ask later, if possible."

Anna's breath was weak with Elsa's touch, yet she managed to reply, "I will answer your questions, and gladly. Go and rest, sweetheart."

"Okay," Elsa breathed, finally releasing Anna's hand. She stood from the couch, wavering slightly, as her hand went to rub her back as it often did. She rubbed her back and began to walk away.

But then she stopped, and turned around to regard Anna. "You rubbed my back last night, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And you held me. You held me in your arms. You… cradled me."

Yes, that was a good word for what Anna had done. Anna could only breathe out her answer. "Also yes."

Elsa momentarily closed her eyes and softly exhaled. When she opened her blue eyes again, she said, "I look forward to our further conversation, Anna."

"As do I. Go rest now, Elsa."

As if she were a puppet dancing to Anna's command, Elsa shuffled away, going to her room and closing the door behind her. Anna watched her go, and then she also deliberately exhaled. It was near maddening to be so close to Elsa and yet have to hide her true feelings. Seeing Elsa sit there, having Elsa stroke her hand and ask meaningful questions, all of it had caused Anna's heart to flutter as if she were but a girl again.

It had been decades upon decades since Anna had last felt this way about another person. It only reinforced how deeply Anna had fallen for her therapist, and how much she ached to hold her, and touch her, and kiss those immensely kissable lips.

Kate soon returned to clear away Anna's breakfast and to assist her with her bath. Anna was a little relieved that it wouldn't be Elsa serving her in this fashion today of all mornings; she had been naked in front of Elsa a thousand times or more, but now…

 _Now you care what she thinks of you, and of your body._

 _Now you wonder if you can excite and arouse her, the way she arouses you._

Oh, it was the truth. Anna sat in the tub with soap and cloth in hand and washed herself, thinking of how her skin was starting to wrinkle, and how her breasts sagged, and how she still had the slightly wizened look of someone who had lost weight in illness. She was putting much needed weight back on, and her skin was pink and healthy instead of grey and sallow, but there was that streak of white in her rich red hair, and other strands of grey sprinkled throughout, and there were spots of darker colour on her skin where no such spots had been before.

Even if her spirit felt as fresh and young as ever, it was increasingly obvious that Anna Arendelle's body was not. When had this even happened?

Given the chance, would Elsa love even this part of her, this part that was ageing? Catriona had been a younger lover, would Elsa welcome an older one?

God, did Elsa even love her in this way? Or was the love she levied upon Anna still the same love she felt for all her patients?

Anna felt so young and confused, so fearful and hopeful.

One thing was for certain. She would eviscerate that bloody awful voice of the Baroness and find some way to tell Elsa how she felt. She had to trust in their connection, she had to believe that Elsa would accept her words, even if she couldn't accept Anna's love.

And perhaps Anna could use the story of tulips to do it.

This idea blossomed in her mind as the morning hours achingly passed. Kate helped her dress, and then Anna returned to her lounge for a morning of embroidery, reading, and writing letters.

The standard lunch hour came and went before Elsa re-emerged from her bedroom. She had dressed in a simple skirt and shirt, and her hair was twisted back from her face in a slightly messy knot. She looked like she was feeling a little better, though some sooty colour still haunted the space beneath her eyes. Anna's appetite was a magnificent thing, despite the lack of exercise in the morning, and she was glad when Kate brought them their trays. Elsa ate plain white rice with a pile of sautéed greens, while Anna had a portion of meat and grilled vegetables. She ended up devouring her entire meal, while Elsa struggled to get through even half of what had been given to her.

However, with the meal finished, they decided to go outdoors for a walk. It looked grey and rather dismal outside, so typical for December near the coast. The skies were leaden, the clouds low and hunkering. Yet Anna was very pleased to put on her winter boots and coat, and to have Elsa tuck a blanket over her knees. Elsa put on her winter things, and then slowly pushed her out the door, through the hallways of the resort, and out into the gardens.

They didn't speak at first. The air was fresh and brisk, stinging their faces. Despite the chill in the air, they were not the only members of the resort out and about, taking a turn through the garden. These walks were a treasured pastime of the nobility, and Anna knew it would be impossible to find utter privacy.

Yet they had come to know this garden well, and Anna directed Elsa to push her towards a rather secluded arbour, away from the central area of the gardens. Here they might rest and converse for a time, in a modicum of seclusion. So Anna coaxed Elsa out from behind the wheelchair, handed her the extra blanket and bade her sit on the bench. Elsa sat down, covered her legs with the blanket, and then rested against the back of the bench with a sigh of contentment. "How cleansing the air is," she murmured as she looked over and beyond the garden.

Anna wheeled herself closer to Elsa and then set the brakes on her chair. She looked at Elsa, sitting there so peacefully, her gloved hands in her lap, and once again had to conquer a desire to take and hold Elsa's hand.

Elsa's head eventually swivelled down, and then she looked right at her, and for a moment seemed to see right _through_ her. "You've seemed a little different today," Elsa quietly mused. "Would you like to tell me what's on your mind?"

"I guess I'm just trying to sort some things out," Anna replied, not quite sure how to get the conversation to go where she wanted it to. She had spent some time earlier today rehearsing just what to say and how to say it, but all her practice fled from her mind. Elsa looked so frail yet so vibrant, like a flowering jewel among the naked vines crawling across the arbour behind her.

"Does any of it have to do with what happened last night?" Elsa asked. "I remember more, now, of what transpired between us. But some parts are still unclear. And I ache for clarity, my lady."

This wasn't how Anna wanted this conversation to go, but she tried to release her expectations and allow Elsa a chance to share a true discourse with her. "You were shivering so badly. I wanted you to be warm. I wanted to help you, as you have so often helped me."

"And thank you for that," Elsa reiterated with a smile. "Dare I ask now what I said while dreaming last night? That part is the haziest of all."

Just then Anna saw Lady Tregarren walking the garden with her attendant; they all gave each other polite nods. It only solidified the anxiety in Anna's heart, and she replied, "Not here, Elsa. Wait until we are back in the privacy of our quarters, and I will tell you all."

Elsa did not try to hide the disappointment on her face. "As you wish, my lady," Elsa said.

Anna didn't allow that hurt to touch her, for she knew exactly what was needed now, to ease the ache in both their hearts. "Actually, Elsa, I was hoping that now might be a good moment to share something with you. It's something I've never told a single other living soul. Not my parents. Certainly not Hans. No one deserved this story of mine. But… it's something I dearly want to share with you."

Anna noticed how Elsa's face got brighter, even as she shuffled forward a little and leaned towards Anna. "I would be so pleased and proud to enter your confidence, Anna," she softly said before she had to turn her head and cough into her elbow.

"I believe I have mentioned that I attended boarding school just outside London for the majority of my youth," Anna began.

"Yes, though you haven't gone into much detail."

"It is our custom to send children to these schools at the age of eleven or twelve, to stay there until seventeen or eighteen. It was an exciting time for me, for education for girls was slowly but inexorably changing. It used to be a place for young women to learn how to be ladies; we would take classes in etiquette, peerage, dancing and languages and literature. But even as I attended school we girls were finally taught maths and basic sciences, politics and logic."

"How did you enjoy school?"

"I loved it, so very much," Anna replied. "I had always loved to read, and I seemed to have a talent for languages, so my parents got tutors for me as a child. English and Norwegian were followed by French and Latin. I was grateful for that extra instruction when I went to boarding school, for it meant I was used to studying on my own. I gobbled up my instruction, logic and rhetoric, botanical sciences and literature, maths and science. I still had to attend classes on etiquette and peerage, to intimately know how to address any person of station from any nation, among other things. Those were the only classes that I despised.

"See, I had been born a lady, the eldest daughter of an Earl, and I knew from the moment of my birth what my life was going to be like. There was only one path available to me, and the solidity of that path was drilled into me throughout my education.

"It wasn't so bad at first, knowing my place in this world and how I would best fit it. In the summers I would return to my home near Bergen in Norway and ride out with my father into the villages under our care, to meet with the tenants and learn from them. For a while, I was comforted knowing that my place in this universe was so strict. There's a perfect analogy from botany itself, Elsa. We stake a young tree in the ground with props and supports so that the tree grows straight and tall and fruitful. And, when the tree is mature, it can more easily withstand weather and disaster, for it had become so very strong, having been supported so well in its youth."

She watched Elsa nod. Elsa's eyes were fixated on her, as if the rest of the world beyond this little resort garden in Scarborough didn't even exist.

"We form close bonds while in boarding school," Anna slowly continued. "Boys had their own school, some distance away, so we girls banded together to create our own sort of family. We held each other's confidences, we studied together, we attended social functions together, we even occasionally incurred the wrath of our matrons together. This was my life. I enjoyed it, though I continued to feel vexed about the restrictions of my duties and my station. Everything was fine, until I was fifteen."

Anna realized that she had been twisting the blanket on her lap, so she forced her gloved hands into stillness. She focused on Elsa again, sitting there so intently before her, and on the white clouds that came from their breath in the chilly December air.

"In the autumn of my fifteenth year, at the start of the new semester, a new girl joined us. Her name was Ingrid Blumberg, and she was from New York City. It was becoming more common for Americans to come to England in order to marry into nobility, just as we flocked to the Americas to look for wealthy youngsters to aid our suffering estates. Indeed, that was the case with our own dear Lily, whose money saved Iskall Slott from financial ruin when she consented to marry my son, Johan."

There was another quick flash of emotion on Elsa's face, this time of worry and perhaps chagrin. But she schooled her features and said, "So this Miss Blumberg came to England in order to find a noble husband?"

"Yes, though it hadn't been her idea, it had been her father's. As soon as we all met her, we knew she would be successful; despite being rather plain of face and plump, she had exquisite brown eyes and a dashing smile. She was mischievous and fierce, with a quick tongue and quick temper. She seemed to have no regard for rules, or for the endless lessons on etiquette and propriety. She was like a queen to us, immensely charming and resourceful and quite brazen as well. A natural leader, yet sweet and generous as well.

"It's safe to say that I liked her immediately. We got on immensely, for her nature was so similar to my own. She liked me better than all the other girls, and very soon I seemed to be chosen as her particular friend. The scrapes we got into! The headmistress complained of having her chairs permanently marred by our backsides, we were called into her office so often." Anna smiled in fondness, glad of this chance to think of those long-ago days, glad to have some portion of her memories now reside within this most beloved woman.

"The months passed, and winter came. In January I had my sixteenth birthday. My father had promised to take me to Greece that summer for a holiday. His health had been a little poor, and he wanted some time along the sea. Ingrid had been invited to join us. We began to plan this trip, what we would do, where we would go, surely there would be time somehow to see every ancient monument, from the Oracle of Delphi to the Temple of Zeus. I can't even tell you how excited I was, for I enjoyed her company above all others, and could hardly wait to spend that much time with her away from the disapproving gaze of the matrons. I wonder if they could see something else growing between us, something unseemly…" Anna's voice drifted, and there was no mistaking Elsa's interest in her words; her companion straightened and leaned forward slightly, as if to catch every single nuance.

"But then." Anna sighed and looked up and over into the gardens. She wanted to be assured of their privacy just as equally as she wanted to impart gravity to this next part of her story. It felt good to be saying these things, like a rough splinter was being extracted from the abscess of her heart. It didn't make it any easier to say these words, to tell this story that had never been told, to shed light on events that had existed only as memories in the depths of her mind.

"What happened, Anna?" Elsa asked as her pause lengthened. Anna looked back at her, and drank in the loveliness she beheld; everything about Elsa was silver and gleaming today, even though she still turned to cough into her elbow from time to time. What a gift she was!

"How the universe turns," Anna mused. "Ingrid received a telegram with very bad news. Her father had suddenly taken very ill. She needed to go home to America, and immediately. Arrangements were quickly made, and it was determined that she would depart on a boat the very next day. I was devastated at the news, and so was she. I had permission to stay in her room that afternoon and help her pack her trunks. There were so many things I wanted to ask her, or tell her, but so few of them had time and opportunity to pass my lips.

"Our final hours sped by. Finally it was curfew. I hugged her for a very long time, and kissed her cheek, believing it would be the last time I would see her. Her coach was due to leave very early the next morning. 'I will miss you,' she told me. 'I will miss you more than anything.' I couldn't reply. How powerless I felt, how subject to the whims of a merciless fate! I had to leave her then, and I returned to my room and tried to understand the wretchedness of my feelings, and the strange depth of my grief at her departure. Even then I knew I shouldn't feel this way about her, but I was powerless to stop it.

"So imagine my surprise when she woke me, some hours later, in the middle of the night. Whispering, she urged me into a dress and then outside, into the gardens. I don't know how we escaped notice. She took my hand in hers, and drew me from shadow to shadow. I was elated, Elsa, to be with her, to be part of one last grand piece of mischief. I had to actively stifle my laughter even as I suppressed wild and inappropriate thoughts about her, this young woman who had become the length and breadth of my entire world…

"So there we were, outside the dorms and the old school buildings, in the gardens, and it was early April. The tulips were blooming and the moon shone bright and intense on them, lining them in platinum and silver. We went into a well-known arbour, much like this one, in a far corner of the garden. I remember the scent of dewy grass, and the smell of turned earth. I remember the warmth and pressure of her hand, still holding mine.

"We spoke a while longer. I don't remember now what we said, for I only remember my gladness of being with her, sharpened by the thrill of possible discovery. Surely we again promised to write, to stay in touch. She wanted to come back to England the moment it was possible."

Anna looked around once more, for the entire world had passed away in the telling of this story. The two of them were still blessedly alone, though the wind was starting to gust ever harder around their ankles and elbows, and Elsa kept coughing now and again.

"Now I cannot say how it actually happened," Anna quietly said. "I think she might have lifted her hand, to tuck my hair behind my ear. But she somehow touched my cheek, and her thumb brushed against my lips, and I couldn't bear it any longer. I leaned forward, and I kissed her on her mouth.

"I was so terrified, Elsa, but the longing I felt in that moment was too great to ignore. Even if she hated me for it, even if she rejected me, she was leaving the next day, so I felt I had nothing to lose. Nothing to lose, yet an entire universe to gain. Even in her imminent loss, and my imminent sadness."

There was no mistaking the electric interest that passed through Elsa's body as she listened to Anna's story. Her attention became a magnetic thing, sparking with energy.

And even though Anna was in the midst of the most private memory of her life, of the kiss that defined the personal agony that had stalked her heels all the days of her married life to Hans Arendelle, all she could see in this moment was Elsa. In looking at Elsa, even this pale and forlorn version of her, Anna remembered watching the aurora together, how Elsa had her hand over Anna's waist. She remembered holding Elsa in a fond embrace, and how magnificent it had been to kiss those beautiful lips.

And now she had more memories still, of Elsa's hand on her hip just the night before. Anna remembered Elsa's fuzzy laudanum-laced words.

 _Oh, honey, how am I supposed to resist you?_

Elsa could not resist the pull of this story. It was evident in her attentiveness, her crimson interest. But Anna could not resist the sight of her beloved, even here and now in the garden. Her story faltered on her tongue, so entranced she was at Elsa's focus, her nearness. That curve of her lip, that line of her neck, that intentness of eyebrow and glance.

Anna would have fallen in love again with Elsa Wolff if that unproclaimed love didn't already fill every corner of her heart and soul.

Oh, how doomed she was! Hadn't she vowed never to love someone she couldn't have ever again? Hadn't Ingrid herself taught Anna this most painful lesson?

But then Elsa leaned forward, her face so pale, so rapt. She put out her hand, to touch Anna's knee and thereby snare her attention. "What happened next, Anna?" she softly asked.

Anna became fully present once more, fished from her maundering by Elsa's question.

"I expected shock, maybe even some horror," Anna replied, her voice low enough to carry only as far as Elsa's ears and no further. "There could have been no mistake in my intent. A peck on the lips between friends is one thing. But this was another. I kissed her in secret longing, in my most abject desperation and flayed hope.

"But… but then Ingrid kissed me back." Anna had to briefly close her eyes, to honour this memory that lived as a steadily burning fire in the savannah of her mind. She was so delighted to find that this memory, above all others, still burned so hot and clear despite the decades that had passed.

When she opened her eyes again, Elsa was still there. Of course she was. Elsa was Anna's new universe; wherever she went, there Elsa would be.

Oh, if only Elsa could last forever!

Yet, for now, Elsa's hand was still on her knee. How comforting it was!

"There was no denying her response. She kissed me as ardently as I kissed her. In that kiss she matched my hunger, my desperation. And there, under the arbour, we kissed each other again and again. Each kiss broke my heart and expanded my world. I knew each kiss was wrong, but it felt so incredibly _right_. How I wanted to stay there, to experience this sensation that was so wondrous and new, but it was not meant to be." Anna couldn't help the small sigh that escaped her lips. "So much of my life was not meant to be…"

Elsa coughed again, and withdrew her hand so that she could cover her mouth. Anna immediately missed the delightful weight of Elsa's touch even as her heart squeezed again for Elsa's illness and pain.

"And?" Elsa breathed a moment later. "What happened then?" It sounded like she was trying to mask her interest, but Anna still felt it. She felt it, and she revelled in it.

"We heard the door slam, and the voice of two matrons who were out looking for us. We crept from the arbour, again flitting from shadow to shadow, somehow managing to outwit them all. Breathless, we slipped back into the dorms, and to our rooms. There, outside her room, I kissed Ingrid one last time. She held my face in her hands and then she whispered that she loved me, and that she would miss me, so very much.

"And then there were footsteps on the stairs, so we hugged each other and parted to our separate rooms. I crawled heavily into my bed and slept poorly, to wake in the early dawn to the sound of her carriage departing. I rushed to the window and watched it go, and felt my heart break. It was the first true instance of wanting something that I knew I could not have, though I would be doomed to feel this time and again throughout my life."

"I feel I have sometimes spent my entire life wanting things I could not have," Elsa said quietly. "I _feel_ for you, Anna, for I know this sensation very well. This is what my Master spent years trying to erase from me, in my personal path of renunciation." Elsa's blue eyes melted even further in interest and concern. "Did you learn anything about her life, and what eventually happened to her?"

"We wrote to each other for several years. Ingrid was never able to return to England. Her father died, shortly before mine, in fact. She helped take over his empire. She married a fellow American a year later as part of a business merger. After her marriage, the letters dwindled. I was in the midst of my new marriage to Hans at the time. It was so painful to think of her, to think of the brief bliss I had experienced. Yet it could not stop me from naming one of my daughters after her, in honour of this woman who had changed me so…

"I was wondering about that," Elsa breathed.

"I wrote to her one last time following the birth of my twins. I waited a very long time for a response. When it came, it was heart-breaking. Ingrid asked me to stop writing to her. She could not bear to be in touch with me any longer. She had her own life to live, and thinking of me and England brought her nothing except despair. She begged me to let her go, let her live in peace. I loved her still… so I did. I did as she asked, and never wrote to her again, even though it broke my heart to do so."

"Oh, Anna," Elsa breathed.

"Following that awful letter, I buried all thoughts of her, all memories of what we had shared that night. I could not bear to think of her and see the reality of Hans before me. What I didn't realize, however, is that you can bury something so deeply that it simply cannot be found again. I truly had not thought of Ingrid in years beyond count. I had buried her that completely.

"But the strangest thing happened the first day you came to me, Elsa," Anna said, drawing the words slowly and carefully over her tongue. "Do you remember? You were rubbing my back, helping me through a painful spasm, and you were speaking of the primroses on the high mountains of India. I had no idea what those primroses truly meant to you, but, as your hands touched me and you spoke of your much-loved flowers, I suddenly thought of my tulips. Those beloved, gentle tulips that have always been so meaningful for me in the years since my youth."

"Our first morning together, you told me that tulips were your favourite flower," Elsa supplied, smiling at Anna as she leaned back against the arbour. "I can now understand why. Oh, sweetheart."

"I still don't know how those memories were unearthed that day, how your touch and your words uncovered them, but that doesn't lessen my gratitude. I thought of Ingrid on our first day together. I daresay I even remembered kissing Ingrid, there in the garden by the boarding school. And it was all because of you, and your words, and the comforting touch of your hands. The first womanly touch I had experienced in many long years. You brought her back to me, Elsa. And I thank you."

The sky was beginning to dim, and the air was unleashing its blades from its sheathes, to cut them in short devastating strikes.

"Thank you for sharing this story with me," Elsa said a moment later. "It can't have been easy for you."

"Indeed it was not. But you paved the way for me, Elsa, by daring to tell me about Catriona. It is remarkable to me that the paths of our lives can be so very different, yet we can share such experiences as well. I'm still astounded by the seeming coincidences that brought us together. How you knew my son, and saved his life and sent him home to us. How Catriona saved Helene's father. And how you came to me when I needed you so greatly."

"I needed you as well, Anna," Elsa whispered. "Only my need wasn't so apparent as yours. I never thought I could care for anyone again the way I care for you."

Anna's heart contorted, as her tormented question remained. Elsa cared for her, that she knew, but how deeply? In what way?

This wasn't the place to ask. This wasn't the moment. But she could _feel_ the right moment coming closer towards her, as inexorable as any tide. Anna didn't know why she felt this way; she wouldn't demean this gift of intuition by looking it in the mouth. She would only give thanks that it existed.

"I feel the same way towards you, Elsa," Anna said. "To think that I tried to push you away, that I first tried to reject you. You once thanked me for my persistence and curiosity. I could easily do the same. Perhaps I should send a letter to your new Master in India, all in the deepest of thanks and praise."

Elsa looked slightly taken aback as Anna spoke these words. "He would, of course, welcome any sort of discourse with you," Elsa said. "He has been most curious about you." She was about to say something more when a series of coughs rocketed through her chest. Anna winced, for these coughs sounded wet, and sharp, and atrocious.

"We should get you back inside, Elsa, you're still not well," Anna said.

"I wish we could stay," Elsa breathed after her coughing spell had dwindled, lifting her swan-like neck to the ice crystals in the air. The motes of that ice danced and played upon her skin. "The grey… is so lovely. Grey. A dance between separate worlds. Do you not think so?"

"I believe whatever you say," Anna breathed, so enraptured she was by the light upon the line of Elsa's neck. So doomed she was by the depth of her desire to kiss that neck, to worship the reality of it with her lips. The desperation of her desire frightened her so much that she crawled back within the Baroness in her mind. "Let's go back inside now, Elsa."

"Of course, my lady," Elsa replied. She apparently knew her place in Anna's world, even if Anna herself seemed intent on forgetting. She rose from the bench, folded the blanket and deposited it back on Anna's lap, and then disappeared behind the wheelchair as she manoeuvred Anna back towards the resort.

Anna thought of how the story had finally emerged from her lips as Elsa wheeled her back indoors, pausing now and again to cough. In the end she was pleased with how the story had finally passed over the stalwart fortress of her mouth and tongue, and how Elsa had accepted it. She contemplated again that magnetic, persistent interest Elsa had displayed as Anna spoke of kissing Ingrid under the arbour. Anna hoped that the message, however oblique, was becoming clearer: Anna was not in the slightest repulsed by the thought of women loving women. No, she was _fascinated_ by the thought, if a bit frightened of it as well.

Yet if she believed Elsa would immediately proclaim her undying love, or if she believed she could summarily slaughter that Baroness in her mind, neither of these things happened as they re-entered their sanctuary. "I'm sorry, my dear," Elsa said, her voice thin and breathless as she helped Anna back out of her winter things, "but I do need another rest."

Anna's heart sank. She didn't want Elsa to leave. The thread of communion was far too dear and fragile to sever with Elsa's departure, even so necessary an absence of a rest in her own room.

To her endless delight, Elsa then asked, "If it won't disturb you, perhaps I can rest here on the couch. I'd…" and then the prettiest colour of rose tinted her fair cheeks as she continued, "I'd rather not be so far away from you just now. But if it would disturb you…"

"I think that's a lovely idea," Anna said. "I believe I'll finally write a letter to that Master of yours. You must tell me how to address him, but that can wait. Rest for now, Elsa."

So it was that Elsa was soon supine and dozing under a blanket on the couch. Anna proceeded to start writing a letter to Elsa's Master, though she scratched out some lines and vowed to rewrite it as soon as she knew just what she wanted to say. How to give thanks to this unknown person for Elsa's influence in her life? How to beg for any form of supernatural or celestial aid? She knew Elsa needed help right now, and any letter sent would take ages to be returned, but she endeavoured nonetheless.

With the first draft of her letter eventually complete, Anna rubbed her tingling legs and began rehearsing her questions and responses for the next conversation they must have. Emboldened by her success with the story of Ingrid, Anna was determined to find out why Elsa had been so surprised to find Anna alive, and what on earth she meant about the book and the lightning and Anna dying earlier this year.

And maybe, if all the stars aligned in her favour, if the aurora in her soul kept shimmering and shining, maybe Anna could finally admit to the endless ocean of love that had appeared in her heart.

One last great fear gnawed on this intention, to tell Elsa that she was in love with her. What if Elsa did not share her feelings, and would not reciprocate that love? Even worse, what if Elsa couldn't bear to stay with her, knowing that Anna was in love with her? God, what if Elsa left her, all because she decided to speak the truth!

Yet even as she felt that fear shiver inside her, a great and glorious Anna rose up to accept it. The Highest Anna she could ever imagine being; this Anna whispered, _"Yes, this is possible. But damn, it, Anna, it's very unlikely! You know this woman loves you. She has made you her home. She won't abandon you that easily."_

So, even if Elsa did not share her feelings, even if Elsa could not reciprocate that love, at least it would be out in the open. After what Hans had done to her, after his years of cheating and lying Anna could not bear secrecy, could not fathom lies. She craved truth and honesty as deeply as Elsa craved clarity.

With one conversation, they could both have what they craved.

Anna couldn't help but look at Elsa, sleeping so peacefully there on the couch. She was a vision of loveliness, and of frailty. Anna stared at Elsa's face and mouth, and dreamed of Elsa's possible response.

She wanted to kiss Elsa as she had once kissed Ingrid. In hunger. In desperation. In hope.

So the hours passed, and Elsa finally woke again. After waking, she slipped into the bathroom for a hot bath, while Kate came with the tea. She lingered a long time in the tub, before disappearing into her room to change and dress once more for their dinner, which they would take in their quarters.

They spoke of little beautiful things while they ate, both of them skirting around the gulf that had formed between them, of questions and hidden intents. The grey sky outside their apartment turned charcoal, and then black.

Finally Kate returned to clear away their dishes and to bid them good night. With her departure, a most expectant silence arose between the two women. Elsa and Anna sat on the couch together, facing the crackling flames of the fire. Anna had a sherry by her hand, and Elsa had ginger tea. She sighed as she curled her knees under her and sipped her tea.

"Your appetite seemed a bit better," Anna ventured. "You ate more rice and greens than you did at lunch."

"This bout has been a bad one, that's for sure, but I already feel like I'm climbing out of it. Two or three days and I should be right as rain." She sipped her tea and then said, "Your story has been much on my mind, Anna. I really can't express how honoured I feel to hold this confidence for you. How brave you are, in sharing this experience with me."

"I haven't often had the chance to feel brave," Anna admitted. "Most of my life I felt like I was only going through the motions, living my duties, doing what everyone expected of me. Moments of true courage seemed few and far between."

"No one else can measure the constitution of your heart," Elsa replied. "What is easy for one person is very difficult for another. We've spoken of true kindness being doing what is right, no matter the consequence or cost. That sort of kindness needs courage as well. Without courage, everything would always stay the same. To be courageous is to take risks, despite possible consequences." Elsa took a fortifying breath and then continued, "I consider it quite courageous that you climbed into bed with me last night, Anna. If it's okay with you, could we talk about it now? Could you… could you tell me everything, even if it's uncomfortable?"

"Yes, we can. I appreciate having had some time to put my thoughts in order, but now it's time."

"May I ask what the doctor told you, before you came to me? He must have told you something."

"He didn't say much, to be honest. Just that you were suffering from general exhaustion, for you had come straight from one caregiving position into my home and service. He told me that you needed a great deal of rest, and perhaps some additional beef and leafy greens. Then he told me that he had given you laudanum, to ease your cough and help you sleep, and said that you wanted to see me."

"All right. What happened next?"

"I wheeled myself into your room. You were shivering so badly, and you begged for a hot shower. What a luxury, Elsa! We have to content ourselves with baths, here." Elsa smiled a little, but her face was guarded and tight. Anna quickly continued, "So I made an instant decision to climb into bed with you and help warm you myself. I curled up right next to you. You resisted me for just a moment, but then you finally melted and put your hand on my hip."

"Yes, this I faintly remember," Elsa whispered. "But then I said something, didn't I? I think I said…"

"You said, 'How am I supposed to resist you?'" Anna answered. Her heart was thrumming, and she could see Elsa's face blush with the memory.

"So I did say that," Elsa sighed.

"Yes. What's more, it seems you confused me with Catriona next. You said… you said you wanted to love me, but there was so little time." Anna immediately wanted to ask what Elsa meant by that, but decided to let Elsa control this conversation.

For Elsa seemed to be reeling slightly from Anna's answers. "Yes, I remember this now, Anna. I also remember your reply, if I didn't dream it."

"What do you remember me saying?" Anna asked, her heart in her throat.

"You asked me to stay with you. To stay with you forever." Elsa softly inhaled and exhaled before asking, "Did I hear true, my lady?"

"Yes, you did."

For a moment, both women stopped talking. Anna could hear the crackling of the fire in the hearth, she could see steam twisting upwards from Elsa's cup of tea. Elsa's face was pale and concerned. She was sitting quite carefully, and her breath seemed shallow.

"Anna, do we dare finish this conversation?" Elsa then whispered. "Are we prepared for where it might lead us?"

"If hope floats forever on the endless sea, then truth is there as well," Anna replied, hoping she tempered some of the raw emotion in her voice. She suddenly knew exactly what to say, what truth to spill that would give this moment the gravity it required. "I need this conversation, honey, I desperately need your truth. I told you about Ingrid and the tulips, and now I must tell you something about Hans.

"Dearest, I suffered under lies, deceptions and part-truths for my entire married life. My husband had a series of affairs, all unknown to me, save for the last. Three years ago I walked in on him while he was having sex with a visiting Baroness. I wasn't supposed to be home that night; I surprised him in the very act. He swore it had been only that one time, that one woman, and I eventually forgave him, and welcomed him back into my bed.

"I now wish I hadn't. My daughters-in-law told me the actual truth. Just before we left to come here to Scarborough, they revealed that Hans, while drunk the night after I barred him from my chambers, told Helene that he had cheated on me many many times." Anna's voice grew thick again as she voiced this particular betrayal. "All of us noblewomen know this is possible, that affairs are rife within the aristocracy, but as our early years passed, I thought that Hans was faithful to me. He was not. He kept so many secrets from me and he told me so many lies."

"Oh, Anna," Elsa breathed a moment later as she took in the fervour of Anna's words and the depth of her admission. She then took a moment to shuffle closer to Anna, so they were sitting side by side; she put her hand on Anna's knee and squeezed. "I had always wondered what had happened between you and Baron Skaldenfoss. Anna, I'm so sorry you had to go through that." Her face hardened slightly. "He didn't deserve you. The fool."

Elsa's brief vehemence was welcome, bolstering Anna's own feelings regarding her husband's infidelity. She hadn't intended on revealing this information so baldly, but she was now glad the words had come from her mouth.

"Well, at least now you understand why we must have this particular conversation, Elsa, no matter where it leads us. The time has come for truth between you and I. Be brave for me, Elsa. If ever you cared for me…"

"Anna, dearest, I have cared for you since the moment I walked into your life," Elsa replied. "That very first afternoon I saw you in such pain, my heart broke for you. How I ached for you!"

"Is that all you feel for me now, Elsa?" Anna softly asked, her heart burning. "After all we've been through?"

Elsa's blue eyes were open wide. Her skin drank in the firelight, making her warm, making her glow. Anna's soul _tilted_ as she looked at her, this woman she so loved, how innocent she was, how wondrous!

"No," Elsa slowly replied, her mouth carefully forming the word. "No, it is not."

There was a pause. Anna could scarcely breathe.

"God help me," Elsa whispered as she leaned forward.

Anna had no time to prepare. Elsa's hands wrapped around her face and neck as she gently pulled Anna's mouth onto her own. Her lips were luscious and soft as she pressed them against Anna's and then held them there as she began to kiss her.

Immediately, Anna knew that this kiss was nothing like their kiss the night of the aurora. Anna's gifted kiss had been a shy and innocent thing, filled with friendship and joy and hidden petal-soft yearnings.

Elsa's kiss had a blessed earthquake underneath it. Anna felt her soul rise up, her ardour cresting like a tsunami, reflecting the desire she had so recently discovered within herself. This was the very kiss she dared not have with Elsa drugged out of her wits with laudanum.

This was the very kiss Anna never thought she could ever have.

For Elsa's lips were on hers again, but this time there was no denying the hunger, the desperation, the longing within the mouth that began to move against hers, the fingers that held her so tenderly, so close.

So Anna lifted her hands, to hold Elsa's neck and shoulder as she tentatively kissed Elsa back. Elsa gave a small, startled mew of a cry as the kiss deepened, their lips moving still so cautiously and shyly against each other. Anna could feel the glorious pressure of Elsa's breasts against her, and the thrumming of her heart.

But then there was a hint of Elsa's tongue, pressing against Anna's closed lips, and the tiniest thread of fear unspooled within her.

Elsa must have sensed it, for she gently kissed Anna one last time before withdrawing.

Their mouths parted, yet their faces remained close to each other's. Anna could scarcely breathe, could scarcely think clearly. Yet her heart continued to writhe and stretch with longing and desire, despite this fresh little fear. Her aurora-born soul rejoiced as she felt, for the first time in years, the sensation of coming _home._

Oh, yes, this woman was the only place where Anna truly belonged.

Elsa retained her soft hold on Anna's face and neck. She gazed right into Anna's astonished and bewildered eyes. "And in case that wasn't answer enough, my darling, let my words erase all possible doubt. Anna Arendelle, I more than care for you. You are the delight of my heart and soul. Oh, Anna, may all the gods forgive me but I… I am in love with you." These last words tumbled from her mouth, which made them all the more endearing.

Anna briefly closed her eyes as she let the sweet tide of those words buoy her up. She had to lift her face to the fire-kissed room, she had to show her neck to this moment, to surrender to it completely. In the velvet darkness behind her eyelids she could hear Elsa's unsteady breathing, she could feel her heart pounding with renewed longing, and she felt all the drifting wants and desires of her youth come flooding back.

It had taken forty years. All the years of her marriage, every time she had kissed Hans she had missed the vital spark, the craving that she had experienced that night with Ingrid. For all those years, she wondered if there was something wrong with her, or if she felt as all women did who were part of arranged marriages. This love and longing was not a requirement of marriage; only duty was. Duty to the husband, the marriage, the family, and the country. The main duty being to beget an heir; how assiduously faithful Hans had been to this one duty, how he had near forced himself upon her until she kindled with his children!

But now?

With just one fervent heartfelt kiss, Elsa had rewritten her past and rearranged her future.

Now? Now, maybe there could be real, true, and abiding love.

And she knew that neither of them would ever be the same.

Immeasurable joy spilled from her heart as she swivelled her head back down and reopened her eyes; she opened them to the vast blue ocean of Elsa's gaze, all vulnerable and concerned and full of hope.

Anna moved her hand, to cup and hold Elsa's cheek. Elsa immediately melted into her palm.

And there she yet felt fever inside her companion, her friend, her would-be lover. Worry once again roared inside her, worry for Elsa's health and welfare.

So Anna held her, and smiled for her, and spoke into the expectant air between them. "I have waited forty long years for that kiss, my darling. And for those words."

"How I have dreamed of giving them to you," Elsa replied, her voice small. "For I have kissed you many times in my dreams." Then her eyes widened as she turned her head so she could cough into her elbow. The movement tore her away from Anna's touch.

And although Anna burned to know about the book, and the lightning, and why Elsa had been so surprised to find her alive, she reluctantly set all her curiosity aside, especially as Elsa continued to cough. She comforted herself by putting her hand on Elsa's knee while she waited. As soon as Elsa stopped coughing, Anna said, "Elsa, you are still burning with fever. Check in, honey. How are you feeling?"

Anna watched as Elsa leaned back slightly, her eyes growing distant as she checked into her body, just as she had taught Anna to do months before.

When Elsa's focus returned, her eyes said absolutely everything. Never in her life had Anna been able to read eyes so well as this moment.

Elsa was skirting the edge of collapse, and they both knew it.

Her face suddenly turned ashen. "I feel faint. Honey…"

"Head between your knees, Elsa," Anna commanded, reminded of the last time Elsa had fainted in front of her on the ship. She hadn't been able to catch Elsa that time, but she would this time. She put her hand on Elsa's shoulder and guided her head down onto her lap. Then she took Elsa's hand, which was cool and clammy.

Elsa grasped her hand like a lifeline. Anna kept her spare hand on Elsa's back, not rubbing, not stroking, just staying quiet and still, hoping it would ground her against the faintness.

Some time later, Elsa sighed. "It's passing," she breathed. "Still, may I lay on your lap, Anna? Just for a little while…"

"Yes, of course, sweetie."

It took a few moments for Elsa to arrange herself, eventually pillowing her head on Anna's lap, just as she had done the day before. Anna reached over her body and fluffed a blanket over Elsa's legs before taking one of her own embroidered pillows to place under Elsa's head. Elsa put her hand on Anna's knee and stroked the inside of the joint with her thumb.

And Anna felt all of it, for her legs had been returned to her. Her life had been restored. And now she had been given a whispered promise of love as well.

Her heart aching with the kiss they had just shared, her soul burning with her own still unspoken love, Anna wasn't sure she could bear the glorious agony of this moment, with Elsa so beleaguered and ailing upon her. "Oh, my own, my darling," Anna breathed as Elsa finally settled upon her. She felt Elsa take a deep inhale and exhale.

"How I love you, Anna," Elsa then breathed. "Stay with me now, please? Don't leave me."

"Hush, my pet. I'm not going anywhere. Rest now, my heart." Anna put her hand on Elsa's head and began to stroke her hair. Unimaginable depths of love continued to carve new coastlines within her heart and soul; she could feel affection and adoration vibrating from her very skin. Indeed she felt her heart could break in pity for Elsa in this moment, for she had become well acquainted with illness, and pain, and limitations of all kinds.

So she held Elsa for a long time, her thoughts returning again and again to the heart-rendingly beautiful kiss that Elsa had just given her, the kiss that accompanied such precious and needed words.

Elsa had come to know her well. Anna needed those words to dispel all doubt. A kiss could be misconstrued, but not a kiss accompanied by such words.

 _Anna, I am in love with you_.

There they stayed, cuddled near the fire, for quite some time.

...

Author's Note: Sigh. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I look forward to hearing from you in the reviews. Happy springtime, everyone!


	21. Chapter 20 - Universe

Dear readers. You may want to savour this one. Read slowly. And privately.

 **Chapter Twenty**

 **Universe**

How strange it was for Anna to settle in her sheets that night of all nights. Still pained and ill, Elsa regretfully retired to bed somewhat early, leaving Anna alone in the lounge to ruminate and ponder what had just occurred. Kate eventually came, to help Anna undress and prepare for bed. With the light off and the fire crackling, Anna's mind returned to the sight of Elsa walking into her bedchamber, looking back one last time at Anna with a great deal of fondness, before closing the door behind her.

But it wasn't only fondness on her face; doubt and hopefulness were there as well. Anna thought she knew exactly why Elsa would look at her in such a way. Once again, Elsa had shown incredible bravery in telling Anna how she felt. She had leapt across the great chasm of her fears; she had kissed Anna and gave Anna precious words.

 _(may all the gods forgive me, but I am in love with you)_

And Anna's words had stayed in Anna's head.

Unspoken. Unacknowledged. Unmanifested.

She frowned as she turned over in her sheets, facing the wall beyond which Elsa slept. Why couldn't she say the words? What was wrong with her? Oh, what a miserable creature she was, to just take and take from Elsa Wolff without giving in return!

She had these feelings, why couldn't she share them? Just what was she so afraid of? Just what was the nature of this brick wall inside her mouth?

Mired in such thoughts of self-recrimination, it took a long time for the Dowager Baroness to fall asleep.

The new day did not dawn well for her, either. She woke with a dull headache and backache, and it seemed that tiny grains of sand were entrenched behind her eyes. Her legs ached as she moved them in the sheets. Rubbing her eyes and stretching, Anna made a mental vow to share her feelings with Elsa that very evening. She would take this day to think and plan, and use the gentle darkness of the evening to speak and act. Yes, she would.

Elsa remained the only thing on Anna's mind as she rang for Kate, and started to eat breakfast. She had finished breakfast and had sealed the final version of a letter for Kate to post to Elsa's Master before Elsa emerged from her chamber. The tall, curvy, platinum-blonde woman who had stolen Anna's heart looked much brighter today; after using the facilities she sat with Anna and had tea and toast. She insisted she was well enough to give Anna an adjustment and a back rub; Anna made only a small show of resistance before she agreed.

Even having Elsa's heated hands on her body was torturous. Her desire for Elsa was a steadily burning ember that only grew more ardent as time passed; denying this desire its proper expression made it only burn fiercer. Anna felt awkward, flustered and confused as she and Elsa then dressed in bathing costumes in order to avail themselves of the hot pool in the cave for a long, cleansing soak.

It was incredibly difficult to be around Elsa in the presence of others. Elsa was careful as always, addressing Anna by her title, showing her all the proper deference that was required. Indeed, she was so good at pretending to be solely Anna's nurse that her sentiments of the night before began to feel like a dream. Had Elsa truly said and done such incredible and amazing things?

It was nearly a relief to be separated from Elsa for a while, as they dressed again and ate luncheon in the main hall. Seated with the Dowager Countess Tregarren, Anna focused on her meal and her conversation, thrusting all thoughts of Elsa aside. When the Countess invited Anna to join her and some other noblewomen in the library that afternoon for tea and embroidery, Anna readily accepted.

Elsa looked slightly surprised at this news, though she said that she would take this opportunity to have a little nap and some rest. Anna's heart quaked as she watched Elsa walk away, for Elsa walked away alone. Anna cast her eyes about and saw how several of the noblemen and servicemen stared at Elsa in frank appreciation as she strode away; irrational anger flooded Anna's chest… how dare they look at Elsa in this way! Yes, she was an incredibly beautiful woman, but she was Anna's….

Wasn't she?

If she truly was Anna's, then Anna should be by her side. And not playing the part of some silly and empty-headed Baroness interested only in gossiping about fashion and affairs.

Anna's heart squeezed as she saw Elsa pause and touch the door as she passed through; was she still so unwell? Anna immediately regretted her decision to have tea and embroidery, for now she wished to follow after Elsa, to sit down on the couch with her, and spill everything in her soul. How awful Elsa must feel, having put her vulnerable heart on her lips and tongue, only to get nothing from Anna in return!

How wretched Anna felt! How low and diminished!

The company for tea and embroidery was small, just four noblewomen, guided and led by the quite-formidable Countess of Hillgarrow, Lady Tregarren. At one point in the afternoon, the Countess looked directly at Anna and asked, "Your nurse has been ill, hasn't she, Anna?"

Anna's mouth went completely dry. She moistened her lips and answered, "Yes, for three days now."

"That's a pity. She has such a warm, giving spirit. You both seem to have a very special relationship, don't you? Somewhat other than mere lady and servant." Lady Tregarren raised a single eyebrow as she spoke, and her voice was clinical yet interested.

Alarm bells began to clang in Anna's mind, and her headache, always low and persistent, abruptly worsened. Casting about for something safe to say, Anna soon replied, "Miss Wolff has given me much comfort and joy, that is true. Besides which, her methods of rehabilitation have been nothing short of miraculous. I needn't remind you of my condition when first we came…" Anna lifted her foot from the footplate of her wheelchair and gently waved it. All the ladies nodded politely. "I must admit, it will be very difficult for me to let her go when this is all over, and I have completely recovered. However, I'm sure Miss Wolff will easily find another caretaking position." Anna was proud that her voice didn't even wobble as she spoke of her deep and abiding future sorrow.

A young daughter of an English Earl, Lady Margaret Greene, piped up, "I only wish I had such a relationship with my maid. Sometimes I feel she does things just to spite me…" The talk quickly devolved into other areas, and Anna inwardly sighed in relief.

But something cool and calculating remained in the eyes of the elderly Countess Tregarren as she continued to look at Anna, and Anna wondered why she had brought up Elsa and their… unusual relationship.

Had Anna not been careful enough? What did this woman think was the true nature of Anna's connection with Elsa?

What _was_ the true nature of that connection?

As the afternoon continued to pass, several thoughts began to multiply with decadent putrescence in Anna's mind, polluting her mood and clouding her judgment.

 _God, Anna, what were you thinking, that you could just fall in love with Elsa Wolff and not reap the consequences? This isn't some fairy tale, Baroness. Is it possible to love her the way you do, and not show it to the world? And, should you show it, would they see only a passionate friendship that shouldn't really exist between noble and servant, or would they see something more?_

 _Do you really care what they think? Or do you care only that, once again, you want something you cannot have?_

 _For you cannot have Elsa the way you truly want her. There just isn't enough time._

It was a relief to leave that stuffy chamber in order to take a turn through the gardens just before afternoon tea. Elsa was summoned, and so Elsa came to guide Anna in her wheelchair through the gardens as the ladies walked and nattered on. The air was bitingly cold, the gardens reamed with silvery frost, and winter dusk already encroached upon them. Yet Anna forced herself to stay witty and engaged with her noble companions, although that seemed to engender disinterest towards Elsa, the only servant invited upon their walk. Anna was the only person with a disability; the other noblewomen were all at the resort for general relaxation and wellness.

Oh, what was passing through Elsa's mind, to be treated this way in front of others? Could she understand what was at stake? Did she understand why it was necessary?

Eventually the wind started to bite them with cantankerous fury, and they all decided to return to the resort. Anna excused herself from the remainder of their idle pursuits, complaining of a headache, quite glad to be retreating back to the apartment she shared with Elsa, her nurse who was no longer just her nurse.

Her headache was turning into something rather ghastly, and she finally admitted to it. Elsa gave her a powder before urging her to lie down on the couch for a while; afternoon tea could wait. So Anna took that powder and Elsa's advice, all the electric lights off for a time, the gathering dusk scattering drifts of charcoal throughout the sitting room now that the only light came from the warmly glowing fire.

Anna breathed through her pain and her mental anguish and felt her eyelids become heavy, even as she endeavoured to keep them open; Elsa sat on the other chair by the fire with a small smile of contentment on her face, as she did nothing but sit. No embroidery. No book. No diary or journal. Nothing that would distract her from her current focus, which seemed to be Anna alone.

Only then did Anna realize that Elsa had not coughed much in Anna's company in the last hour or so. Maybe she really was starting to feel better. Thank all the gods.

However, Elsa still seemed pale and listless, her energy levels low. Was this illness truly the fault of having but one kidney, or was something else at play?

What had Elsa meant by the words she had spoken under the influence of illness and laudanum?

 _(I'm dying, my world is ending_

 _Anna died decades ago, of sudden infection_

 _The book said you died in September 1924_

 _But you're not dead_

 _Oh, I can feel your heart beating)_

Elsa's hand had cupped her breast as she had comforted herself with Anna's heartbeat that night she shivered in the sheets. Just thinking of it now caused delirious joy to invade Anna's chest.

For they were alone again, and the fire was so comfortable, and the weight of the blanket so soothing on Anna's poor body, and her headache slowly eased from its prior roar; Anna looked at Elsa with her half-lidded eyes and saw Elsa looking back at her with a sweet, near worshipful gaze.

Anna felt an answering lurch in her stomach as she looked at the fire-kissed expanse of Elsa's lips. She looked at them and remembered them another way; how desperate they had been upon her own just last night, how very insistent!

She and Elsa were alone now, and would probably remain so for the rest of the evening. Even now, Elsa seemed quietly expectant; her yearning was palpable and argent. Could Anna finally say something, would she finally admit to the love that had appeared so brilliantly in her breast as she had held a shivering Elsa in her arms two nights ago?

Anna would not.

Anna dozed instead. And every moment in the oblivion of sleep was blessed, for it excused Anna from the wretchedness of the now.

…

It was that evening, the evening of December the fourth.

Five days had passed since they had watched the aurora together, and three days had passed since Elsa had fallen so ill. Two days ago Anna had cradled Elsa in her bed, and, just the night before, Elsa had told Anna she had fallen in love with her.

How could time be this fickle, this contrary? Anna felt as if she had passed through an entire decade since the night of the concert, when Elsa had told her it was her birthday.

Anna had felt wretched that night, knowing she was a poor diminished creature who hadn't cared enough about Elsa Wolff.

Tonight she felt even more wretched still.

As dinner in their quarters came and went, and the evening itself began to slip through Anna's clumsy fingers, Anna felt mired in self-condemnation and chastisement. Moment by moment she told herself to just open up to Elsa, to share the feelings that had taken such strong and glorious root inside her, but she was truly incapable. Anna knew that her words would help heal this strange breach that had formed between them in the time since Elsa's heartfelt admission of love, and she also knew that Elsa suffered from not knowing if Anna returned her feelings.

Anna couldn't bear the thought of Elsa suffering, neither physically nor emotionally, but she just couldn't speak.

That same enormous fear still reigned over her tongue with a sword of pitted steel, slaying every attempt at truth.

As time in Elsa's company stuttered and crept along, their talk inconsequential and empty, Anna subconsciously evaluated this reticence and fear. As great as her feelings for Elsa had become, to give voice to them would make them real for all time. Would this dishonour Hans' memory? Did she care if it did? Was it truly right for her to love Elsa, or was it somehow better to just stumble along this awful road littered with such pangs for true love, yet still stay loyal to everything she had been taught her entire life?

Every time she gathered the courage to open her mouth and say the much-needed words of love, she closed her mouth again. Irrational fear kept appearing inside her, and those tender words would die, crushed between the strong nourished teeth of her fear.

Now was a perfect example.

They had both changed into their nightgowns and returned to the lounge for the last hour of the evening. Elsa was seated on the couch, curled upon it like a snowy cat while she made notes in her journal, her hair twisted up and away from her neck. Her eyes often flicked up and over to where Anna sat at her writing desk, ostensibly reviewing correspondence Helene had sent her regarding the War Widows Fund.

At least, that was what Anna told herself she was doing.

In fact, she was stalling. She just couldn't concentrate. Not when Elsa's eyes would caress her; here, in the privacy of the little apartment they called home, Elsa's eyes would fill with adoration and fondness when looking at her. In these moments Elsa was as transparent as the great glass windows of Iskall Slott, when the sun would set over the sea and fill the room with massive roars of peach and purple light.

Anna didn't fear rejection, not with this abundant and bountiful love that so roared from her nurse and therapist, Elsa Wolff.

So just what was she afraid of?

Why could she not speak?

The evening aged, and grew hoary. Night began its spectacular dark ascendance.

Elsa yawned, again and again, as the clock ticked towards ten. Finally the younger woman announced that it was time for her to go to bed, for she still felt somewhat unwell. She rose from the couch and came to Anna's side. "Good night, honey," she whispered as she bent over to kiss Anna's cheeks.

"Sleep well, Elsa," Anna replied, wishing oh wishing she had enough courage to just say what she wanted to say, and do what she wanted to do. Which was to take Elsa's face in her hands and kiss her again, on the lips this time, and assure her that she was loved, so very loved.

But no, Anna Arendelle did none of these things. She watched Elsa walk away instead, and saw Elsa entered her bedchamber and close the door behind her. The moment Elsa was gone, Anna propped her elbows on the desk and put her face in her hands in the utmost personal confusion and despair.

What was wrong with her?

After a few minutes of remorseless self-pity, Anna abruptly made herself sit up, and she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

 _You are no coward, Anna. You have never been a coward. Don't start now. Use that clever brain of yours that your husband despised and think this through!_

Okay. First. Elsa Wolff, the woman you desperately love, is also in love with you.

And Anna immediately thought that she should have been overjoyed to discover that Elsa was in love with her. A much younger Anna had believed that such a declaration of love would solve all her problems, and validate her existence. This Anna held no such illusions, yet she was surprised to find that Elsa's statement did not immediately fill some hole in her soul, some gap in her existence. Why did this chasm yet remain?

For she had always skirted around this chasm, this yawning crevasse of true love. In the early years of her marriage to Hans, she kept telling herself to try harder, to find ways to compliment him and appreciate him, hoping that would allow love to flourish in her whole heart. Oh, how many nights she had lain with him and forced herself to produce the motions of love, believing that if only she could fake it long enough, it would become true!

She had blamed herself for his callousness and distance so many times. His behaviour was her fault; she just had to be a better wife and lover to him.

But then again, Hans had never looked at her the way Elsa looked at her. Never.

Anna closed her eyes as she thought of it.

For now that Elsa had professed her love aloud, she was brave enough to allow it full expression on her body and face while in the privacy of their quarters. Over this entire day, each time Anna glanced over at Elsa she saw Elsa's body oriented towards Anna, her eyes brim-full with tenderness; somehow even more warm chewy admiration would enter Elsa's abundant expression when she discovered Anna looking at her in return. Anna's heart trembled each and every time, the very core of her being quaked and vibrated to be the object of such perusal!

How marvellous and soul-enriching it was to behold! Oh, this was the love she had been searching for her entire life, and here it was, like a gift dropped from the very heavens.

So why, oh why couldn't Anna just respond likewise? Her feelings towards Elsa were so incredibly strong, immense love and yearning filled her entire being, she ached to hold her and kiss her and love her in return.

So why couldn't she? Dig deeper, Anna, what's going on?

Anna put her handkerchief away and looked out the window. Icy rain clattered against the windows, mercilessly battered by winter wind. Following a sudden impulse, Anna turned off the lamp on her writing desk, plunging the lounge into darkness lit only by dying firelight. The room cast now in mysterious sputtering crimson and maroon shadows, she wheeled herself away from her desk and to the window so she could stare into the darkness. It was quite late now, and the world outside the resort was so chaotic and blustery; a mirror to Anna's tortured thoughts.

The fire hissed as it slowly consumed itself, continuing its inevitable reduction to ash.

Anna lifted her hand and touched the window glass; it was welcoming in its coolness. Her breath made a cloud upon the pane. She thought of Elsa as she had seen her the day of Anna's greatest agony, the day Elsa had to leave her. Elsa had been standing by the window, just like this. She had had her hand on her back, and her other palm on the glass, the weight of her stories and secrets upon her shoulders as rain struck the pane with vicious intensity.

Anna had gazed at her that day in such gratitude and ignorance. They had finally used each other's true names, but so much more was clouded and unclear. Such tempests awaited, just like those bolts of lightning that had tried to assault Iskall Slott.

Oh, Anna just hadn't known!

Anna hadn't known that one such weight on Elsa's shoulders had been named Leif Arendelle. Another weight had the name of Catriona Murphy.

Other weights remained, Anna knew. Elsa had gasped of them, during the night of laudanum-induced nightmare.

She wished she knew their names as well, that she could help Elsa carry some of their incredible burden. Oh, why did Elsa keep her from this truth?

Anna shook her head, ripping herself away from this meandering thought. This isn't about Elsa. It's about you. So, stop evading the real question!

 _Anna, just what exactly are you afraid of? Why can't you speak?_

Now that Anna had opened her mind up to thought, and created space for understanding, her higher self provided an answer, an answer so terrible and true that Anna could scarcely abide it.

It was completely acceptable in this day and age for women to have intense, near passionate female friendships. Indeed, it was one of the ways women were perceived as being weaker than men, for women indulged in these emotional outlets instead of stifling them. The idea of female friendship and companionship included occasional kisses, ardent embraces, and long letters exchanged.

Yet these relationships were often bound in other ways, for these women were usually already married. They had their socially acceptable sexual partner. Society didn't care what went on behind closed doors, for the woman was doing her duty as part of her marriage.

Anna was a widow. She had no partner. Her friendship with Elsa would be perceived in a different light. Anna didn't exactly care what people would say about her, what gossip would perpetuate behind closed tearoom or library doors. They could say what they wished, even if Anna eventually dared form a romantic relationship with her nurse and therapist.

No, Anna's pain and fear came from an altogether different source.

Elsa's transience.

The night she had held a shivering Elsa in her arms, she had spoken the truth. She wanted Elsa to stay with her forever.

But in this she would be denied.

In this past year, Anna had passed through more pain and agony than she believed could exist. Yet that pain and agony would be a trifle compared to the blinding sorrow of Elsa's eventual departure.

So how could she speak her truth, how could she invite this intimacy, knowing it would all eventually end?

Even now, Anna couldn't bear to lose Elsa. If they became lovers, it would be a thousand times worse. Anna evaluated her heart and knew that she just wasn't strong enough. Not for this.

Anna abruptly pushed herself away from the window; she couldn't bear the sight of her tortured face in the pane. She pushed herself back and back, until she bumped into the writing desk. At which point she bowed her head and put her face in her hands.

Immeasurable grief put soft implacable fingers around her neck and choked her. For a moment she could scarcely breathe.

 _Oh, god, what do I do now? I want her, I desperately want her. But I can't have her!_

 _I beg of you; if you love me, send me a sign! Show me what to do, please!_

The fire hissed and popped, invigorated. The rain continued to bash against the windowpane.

Her heart hammered and thrilled. Anguish reigned, flying rampant throughout time. Anna thought she would vibrate apart, so great were her agonies.

And then she heard a beloved voice whisper, "Anna?"

Anna swivelled her head and saw Elsa crouched at her side. Surprised and emotionally shaken, Anna could only look at her, for Elsa still appeared pale and fragile as she slowly recovered from her sudden illness. Tears suddenly filled Anna's eyes; just seeing her here caused her heart to quiver with longing and sorrow.

Elsa's face was somewhat stern. "Come with me, Anna," she suddenly commanded. She rose, set the brakes on Anna's chair, and then bent over again, her arms going under Anna's knees and behind her shoulders.

Startled into obedience, Anna automatically put her arms around Elsa's neck and allowed Elsa to lift her from her chair. Elsa lifted and carried her slowly and deliberately, her tireless feet crossing the threshold of her chamber; Anna half-closed her eyes and held on tight.

Elsa took her into her room and gently placed Anna on her bed, just as she had done a thousand times before. Yet she caressed Anna's shoulder before straightening and momentarily rubbing her back.

Anna's bedchamber was chilly and dark, so Elsa turned and went to the fireplace, closing the bedroom door on her way. Kate had already prepared the fire for lighting; all Elsa had to do was spark it with a match. Anna watched as Elsa did so, coaxing her somewhat working legs into a more comfortable position, using the triangle bar above her bed to sit against the headboard.

She couldn't help but stare at Elsa in some confusion; how was it possible that Elsa was here now, when she so needed her? Anna couldn't rip her eyes away from Elsa in this moment; Elsa was a goddess, the light from the youthful fire behind her beginning to cast her frame in a rich halo.

Elsa returned to her; Anna's sight was arrested. Anna recognized the satin nightgown and the embroidered robe atop it, but never had she seen Elsa's hair completely loose before. It flowed over her shoulders like a snowy mountain stream, glinting now with fire-borne hints of red and gold. Despite the months they had spent together, Anna had never seen Elsa's hair like this before; it shone like moonlit-ice, like sun-kissed snow, and oh, how Anna wanted to run her fingers through it!

Anna also realized that she desperately wanted a hug. All those thoughts that had passed through her mind in the last twenty-four hours were still crowding her mind with judgement and misery. She wanted Elsa's arms around her; she wanted to nestle next to Elsa's neck. She needed to be held, and cherished, and loved as she had never been loved in all her life.

But even now she just couldn't ask for what she wanted. It was just a hug, all she wanted was a hug, and even this simple request perished between those strong nourished teeth of her fear.

Elsa was intuitive and observant, but she was no mind-reader, no prophetess or seer. Elsa couldn't know of this simple unmet desire; she just sat down on the edge of Anna's bed, tucking her knee under her just as she had done a thousand times before.

Yet never had she sat with quite such presence and authority, with an overwhelming sense of place and belonging, for never had she graced Anna with such naked love and devotion as this very moment. It was so vulnerable and so true that Anna felt tears well up in her eyes yet again.

"I need to ask for your forgiveness, Anna," Elsa said, without softener, without preamble.

"Why on earth would you need my forgiveness?" Anna spluttered, genuinely surprised. She was so incredibly bewildered, just what was happening?

"Because I really should have recognized all these signs before now. I should have been more observant, and realized what you have been going through today. I should have been more available to you, to support you in your personal revolution. God knows I've seen this reaction in other women. That is why I must apologize. I should have known better by now."

"Elsa, I…"

"Anna, how did it feel when I kissed you last night?"

Anna closed her mouth and stared at her.

"Honey, please answer the question."

"It was the best, most amazing kiss of my life."

"Were you scared?"

"A little."

"I could sense it. How else did you feel?"

Anna tried to stop anticipating where Elsa was going with this conversation, and decided to just answer the questions. She inhaled and took a moment to think and gather the scattered threads of her truth. She wove them together in her mind and then spoke them, a gift for her Elsa.

"How did I feel? I felt like I was finally coming home, maybe for the first time in my life. The fire I felt within you, your hunger, your… longing, and all for me… it rewrote my perceptions of myself. I felt the same way the night of the aurora, like a small yet essential part of me had been out and drifting among the stars. When you kissed me, that part came back to me. The way you kissed me, Elsa… I never imagined anyone could ever kiss me that way." Anna could barely speak these last words, and it took some effort to continue to meet Elsa's soft gaze.

Elsa seemed to gather this gift of truth in her arms, folding it inside herself. And then she asked, "It did something else to you, didn't it, Anna? It made you start to question. It caused you doubt. It created suffering."

"Yes," Anna breathed. "Also all that."

"Let me tell you a true story, honey," Elsa said as she shuffled even closer to Anna and put her hand on Anna's knee. "I grew up in a deeply religious family. From the moment of my birth I was taught that homosexuality was a grave sin, worthy of hell and damnation. It wasn't just wrong, it wasn't just illegal, it was evil, it came from the devil, and it would be best never to entertain such thoughts.

"Yet as I grew older, entering my teenage… excuse me, adolescent years, I discovered something shocking. I desired girls. Not boys. Girls. I would look at them, with their long and beautiful legs, with the curve of their necks, and the softness of their lips. Nothing about boys was attractive to me, there was nothing to entice or excite me. But it was boys I was supposed to like, a boy I was supposed to love and marry. Only with a man could a woman fulfill her greatest destiny, that of being a wife and mother. Without a man, a woman was nothing. So I was taught.

"So I started to walk out with a young man or two from my home town, and those foolish young men quickly said they were in love with me, and wanted to marry me, but I couldn't return their feelings. I began to believe I was a flawed creation. I was an aberration in God's plan."

"But you're not!" Anna protested. "You are perfect, just the way you are!"

Elsa smiled at her and squeezed her knee. "You're a dear. I'm not perfect, far from it, and so I thought myself to be made wrong when I was so young and confused. I couldn't even talk to anyone about it. I had to suffer through it on my own. Why would God make me this way?

"Or was this somehow my choice? Had I somehow chosen this particular agony, to love women instead of men? It had never seemed like a choice to me. It had only ever seemed like a harness, as if I were only a mule, and my universe the unforgiving muleteer.

"Because even from my youth I knew I had a great gift for healing, I had such capacity for compassion and love. But why, why would all my love be turned towards my own gender?

"Everything got so much harder after my father and brother died. I felt I had to sacrifice my own dreams to keep the farm going, to keep my mother happy. But I couldn't stay forever; even at that age I knew another life was waiting for me. I left as soon as I could, to study nursing in Montreal, thinking that if only I could help people enough, God might forgive me for loving women. With all this effort, surely He would not damn me to hell. Not for something so simple and so beautiful as love."

Rapt, Anna listened to Elsa's words, her soul quivering on the edges of them. Her words were a plough, harrowing up the fertile field that was Anna's own confused soul.

Readying the field for sowing, and a most plentiful harvest.

"My acceptance of this part of myself did not come easily. I finished nursing school and instantly moved to Europe, eventually settling for a year in Czechoslovakia. I met a woman there. She was a little older than me, and I fell madly in love with her. The type of young mad love that isn't meant to last, it's only meant to teach and illuminate. A chapter in a book, not a book itself." Elsa said this with a wistful smile, and Anna's heart lurched yet again. Her mind bubbled and roared with Elsa's tale; Elsa had also had a lover in Czechoslovakia?

How many women had Elsa loved?

And how had Elsa actually lived in Czechoslovakia? How on earth had she managed that? What other stories did Elsa have? Dear god, Elsa was easily the most interesting and complex person Anna had ever encountered!

"She was so instrumental for me, Anna," Elsa continued with a soft sigh. "She accepted me. She loved me. Kissing her proved everything to me. In kissing her I discovered such joy, such incredible fulfillment, so deeply that I just _knew_ it couldn't be wrong. How could such love be anything but right?

"Our relationship eventually ended, and I decided to go to India. It had been calling me for a long time, after all. And it took me a very long time to get there, though, in hindsight, that was a very good thing. By the time I arrived at the monastery in the mountains, I knew I had changed. I had somehow accepted every disparate part of myself. And, somewhere along my journey, I lost my sense of God."

Anna's eyes widened as she tried to understand just what Elsa meant.

Elsa was so focused on her that she immediately adapted to Anna's expression and continued, saying, "Let me explain. It was the judgemental and fear-inducing God of my childhood that I lost. I gained a completely new God along the way. What I discovered in my long journey wasn't even God anymore, not really. God was too narrow a term for the absolute _presence_ that appeared to me. I found the _universe_ instead, my dear, a benevolent and loving and omnipotent universe, a force that would support me and uplift me in every moment of my life, and in my every hidden thought and need.

"And when I discovered the universe, I also discovered my place in it.

"Imagine it, Anna. Imagine a moment when you completely accept every part of yourself, the flawed with the divine. Sweetheart, one day I opened my eyes and I somehow knew it all. The moment I accepted every part of myself, including my desire for women, was the moment I felt completely aligned to the universe for the first time in my life. That was the first moment I understood how rare I was, how beautiful, how perfect and essential. I needed no one to tell me these things. I knew them for myself.

"I cannot tell you how liberating this was. How it rearranged my entire life, my entire future. And lest you get the wrong idea, it didn't come in a blaze of glory, like some gift simply handed down from the sky. It came instead as a soft sensation that spanned weeks and months of service. Just… one day I woke up to the sight of primroses on the mountains, and I felt altered. I felt deeply rooted, cradled within the protective embrace of a universe that adored me, a universe that celebrated the fact that I had been created this way, and that I existed. For I finally understood that I was perfect, just the way I was.

"How innocent I was back then, how trusting! I had no idea of how I would eventually be tested, how my benevolent and loving universe would put my toes repeatedly into the fire. I had no taste of the trials to come, how the universe would examine me and test my dedication to my deepest, highest, and truest self. Anna, I certainly had no premonition of the hardships to come, of the thunderstorm that redefined me and my place in this world. Certainly I could not have foreseen the Great War, with all its privation and despair. I could not have foreseen Leif, nor Catriona.

"And I most certainly could not have imagined you, Anna Arendelle, the darling of my heart and soul."

Anna had shivered to hear Elsa mention this storm yet again, yet that was nothing compared to the soul-displacing wonder of hearing her name coupled with darling of heart and soul. With every syllable Elsa spoke, Anna felt her soul magnifying. She knew that she had been waiting her entire life, all 57 years of it, just to hear these words.

These words, they were destined for her. Just as Elsa was destined for her.

Just as Elsa was destined to leave her.

How she quivered, how she trembled! For these long minutes of Elsa's heartfelt oration, Anna felt as if she stood upon the precipice of a great and high abyss, and all about her was a storm, thunderclouds and charged orange lightning, waiting to ravage her, ready to rearrange her entire future. Such darkness, such foment, such anticipation!

The mental darkness she had passed through, her spiritual agonies of this very day, it had all been preparation for this moment of transformation.

For the first time in her life, Anna felt ready to leap off the cliff of her irrational fears. To fly or to fall, it didn't matter which, for the universe was there with her.

The universe was a great mouth, ready to swallow her. She would pass through the stomach and guts of its dread fanged world.

And be transformed in the process.

And the first bolt of lightning struck her, in the form of a momentous thought.

 _I am Anna Arendelle. There is none other like me. And I am a gift, a gift to this world._

The insight was so glorious that Anna closed her eyes and lifted her neck, surrendering to it.

And with the tongue of her precious and infinite soul, she spoke into the recesses of her mind, addressing the universe that had formed her, so perfectly and so well, the universe that forever dwelled within her mind.

 _I am yours. Hear me. I. Am. Yours._

Another shiver rippled through her, a celestial vibration. Once again she could scarcely breathe, for joy pulsed within her, and beauty filled her, and it was pain that had provided the foundation for all of it, the pain of a broken back, and traction for broken legs, and infected bedsores… and young Lord Galthe's consumption and death, and Elsa Wolff holding her dead lover among high mountains, oh god, Elsa Wolff…

Anna opened her eyes and there she was, this messenger of divinity, this voice of the cosmos.

How was it possible that Elsa had come to her, that Elsa had fallen in love with her?

How was any of this _possible?_

"Anna?" Elsa whispered, a feather of concern in her voice.

"Speak on, my darling," Anna whispered, for Elsa wasn't finished yet. There was something more, at least one more truth that waited upon the glory of Elsa's tongue. Anna didn't know how she knew this, but it was true nevertheless. "Say what you are meant to say."

She saw Elsa swallow. Her neck was so lovely! Oh, Anna wanted to touch it!

"Dearest, this is what I have to say. I have forgotten my lessons many times in the years since discovering this truth. I have such stories to tell you, Anna, stories that I desperately hope you will believe. But believe me when I tell you that there is nothing to be ashamed of. I saw your agony today, honey. I witnessed your war. Anna, if you love women, if you want to love me, believe me that it's all right. It is natural. Love, true and abiding love is such a gift. No one else will tell you this; god-fearing fanatics of this day and age will try to convince you otherwise, but please believe me. Please learn from the lessons that came to me so hard."

Anna put out her hand and touched Elsa's hand, there on her knee. Elsa's impassioned voice came to a halt, and she lifted a single eyebrow as she looked at Anna. "I appreciate your words, Elsa," Anna began, "but that was not the true nature of my war today. Those fanatics can say and do what they wish. I care not."

"Then what was it, honey? What tortured you so much today? I have seen a particular agony on your face for the past week. Tell me, please."

Anna's throat grew thick just to think of it, to consider, yet again, Elsa's eventual departure from her life. She moistened her lips and said, "It's quite simple, really. It's only the thought of losing you."

Elsa blinked as she reeled from Anna's simple words. Anna continued, "You once said that our separation will be agony. It will be more than agony to me, Elsa. It will be… actually, there is no word to describe it. You will leave me one day. And, even now, I don't know if I will survive it."

Elsa shook her head slightly in either negation or wonder, Anna didn't know which.

Suddenly bereft and incredibly lonesome, despite the pressure of Elsa's hand on her knee, Anna continued, "I'm a strong woman, Elsa. But not strong enough. Not for that."

"Oh, sweetheart," Elsa breathed. "That is the nature of your war? Losing me?"

"Yes. For it will happen. One way or another. Won't it?"

A strange expression flashed upon Elsa's gentle features. "I wish I could say no…" Elsa whispered. "Believe me. I'm in love with you, Anna. I would stay with you, I would be with you forever, if only I could. But I… I can't."

It brought Anna no joy to hear those words from Elsa's mouth. It only deepened the already aching crevasse in Anna's heart. "I knew it," Anna whimpered. "How can I love you, when you will leave me? And how can you bear this pain? If you have some secret, please teach me. How are you strong enough for this? Do you not feel this same pain, this same agony?"

Elsa's eyes were so soft, so wounded as she absorbed Anna's piteous words. "Oh, I feel it," she replied. "This whole day has been torturous for me. And, to answer your question, I'm probably not. Strong enough, I mean. But I will not sacrifice the joy you bring to me in the present moment for a future filled with sorrow." Her voice got strangely small as she continued, "Even if, one day, you yourself might wish I had. I am selfish, Anna. I want you. Even if…" and her voice came to a halt.

Both women paused. Anna heard the crackling of the fire; saw shadows dancing across the ceiling. Elsa seemed to wilt; had Anna's personal despair finally infected her?

But then Elsa shook her head, and straightened her spine, and her beloved blue eyes became incredibly sharp and keen. "No," she murmured. "I will not succumb. And neither will you."

"Wha—"

"Anna, listen to me."

"I'm listening."

"What I am about to say is the truth I discovered, through much hardship and pain. You wish to know my secret? It is this.

"I am a genuine child of the universe, Anna. Worlds without number whirl inside me. Every atom of my body now vibrates in harmony and communion with the essential vibration of the cosmos. From Mars to Pluto, from Virgo to the great unknown… they are mine, and I am theirs. Anna, I am the sun, I am the moon, and I am everything in between. My sea is endless.

"Hear me, Anna. I am the endless sea.

"And so are you."

Lightning struck Anna again, exploding throughout her nerves, raging over her entire healing frame, powerful enough to displace her borrowed agony from a future that hadn't even occurred.

And for the third time in her life, Anna caught a glimpse of her divinity, of the fact that she was eternal, that part of her had always existed, and would always exist. Elsa had been the architect of each of these instances of knowing; the first on the summery field the day she had submitted to her pain, and the second had been the night of the aurora.

It was no mere fancy that Anna had felt part of her soul return to her on the waves of the celestial river of the aurora. It had been truth, it had been the youthful aching part of her love and hope that she had once ripped from her heart only to cast into the storm riddled coast of the Aegean Sea.

This part of her heart and soul had returned to her, and now Elsa's words had thoroughly stitched these disparate parts of her together. Anna felt bliss flooding through her, swirling and churning around the blocks of her present and future despair.

 _(if we are already so connected_

 _if our seas have already merged so completely_

 _then wouldn't the memory of our love help carry me over my eventual sorrow?_

 _as Tennyson said, isn't it better to love and lose than never to have loved at all?)_

Her whole soul shivering and expanding, Anna watched as Elsa finally released her hold on Anna's knee, only to take Anna's hand.

And for the first time, Elsa entwined their fingers together and pressed tight, so they were palm to palm.

Anna's heart squeezed so tightly she could scarcely breathe. Constellations burst behind her eyes. The depth of her love for Elsa nearly choked her. She wanted to reel from the force of it, and only Elsa's fingers locked so tightly with her own kept her grounded.

Then Elsa lifted her other hand, to stroke and caress Anna's cheek. "Nothing happens by chance, Anna, yet our destiny is our own. Lightning may strike, and roars of thunder may rearrange our past and our future, but our choice is ever the same. The world can take everything from us, it can strip us down to nothing, but one thing remains. We choose how to react. That is the last and greatest gift of the universe. Reaction is always our choice.

"Even knowing this, I haven't always been brave. Anna, by the time I came to Iskall Slott and to you, I was despairing. My reserves were gone. I felt abandoned by my god, I felt bereft and alone. Oh, I can scarcely admit it now, but there were times our first weeks together when I wanted to leave you, leave the life I had created, simply pick up the pieces of my shattered existence and drift away on whatever tide would have me. I didn't think I had enough strength for you. I saw you as broken, perhaps beyond my ability to fix."

Anna's eyes widened to hear this, and her soul trembled with agony for a past that did not occur. Oh, what if Elsa had not stayed!

None, none of this would have happened!

 _(Anna Arendelle died in September 1924, of sudden infection_

 _the book said you died)_

Anna's strange thoughts were interrupted as Elsa's hand drifted down Anna's cheek to stroke the length of Anna's neck as she continued, "And how wrong I was. My lady, my heart, believe me. _You_ taught me courage. Despite all the mistakes I have made, all the secrets I have kept for misguided reasons, the universe still adores me. The universe still blesses me, and seeks to help me. Because the universe brought me _you_. When I needed you most of all, the universe brought me _you."_

Now Elsa's hand was under her chin, and her thumb strayed perilously near Anna's mouth. Elsa looked right into Anna's eyes as she said, "You, Anna. You are the last best gift of my life. So I will love you. I will adore you. Even if you feel you cannot love me in return."

Elsa paused in her oration, her words thick and choked with emotion. Her beloved blue eyes were reddened, and gleaming. Anna beheld such hope in them, along with such incredible pain.

Time passed, unmarked and unseen. Anna's world, blown apart, began to reorganize into something magnificent and breathtaking and new.

Elsa's truth reverberated inside her. Anna was the endless sea.

Which meant that she was strong enough for this, this incredible love, this inevitable severance. She was strong enough to bear all things.

Just like that, a great _shift_ occurred.

For Elsa was destined to leave her, that Anna knew, but Anna could still love her, body, mind and soul. She did not know the date of Elsa's eventual departure, but she no longer cared.

 _(my fate, I give to you, as I would give all good things to you)_

She would make those words true, she would bear Elsa's fate for as long as she could, and count each moment as a gift.

For Elsa was the purest gift that could ever be granted, and Anna felt so blessed that this gift had come to her.

So, yes, Anna would love her. And one day, Anna would lose her.

So be it.

Anna moistened her lips and said, "And you have been my gift, Elsa Wolff. I meant what I said a few days ago when you fell ill. I have given my fate to you. Now and forevermore. For never in my life have I loved anyone the way I love you."

Elsa's hand was now upon her neck, and a tear slipped from her eye. "Anna, I beg you… I know you love me. But are you… do you…" and then she could no longer speak, for the immense aching hope in her voice finally choked her.

Anna lifted her free hand and wiped away that tear. "The moment you shivered to sleep in my arms was the moment I finally admitted it to myself. From the moment you blazed into my life, Elsa, I have loved you. But that night, the night I held you in my arms, the night I comforted you and cradled you, that was when I realized… oh, gods…"

"Please say it," Elsa whispered after Anna's voice shuddered to a halt.

Anna knew that she was on the last great precipice of her entire life. She took a deep breath as she considered her awful, Elsa-less future for the last time.

And then she leaped.

"Elsa, you are the light of my life. I simply cannot describe the joy you bring to me. Elsa, I am in love with you."

Elsa stared at her a moment before she uttered a strangely piteous cry as she disentangled their hands and launched herself forward to wrap her arms around Anna. Momentarily startled, Anna embraced Elsa in return, feeling Elsa thrum under her hands.

"Oh, how I had hoped…" Elsa breathed into Anna's ear as she convulsed in Anna's arms. "But you didn't speak, and then I didn't know… oh, my heart, it hurt so..." She clutched Anna even tighter, mirroring the night of laudanum-induced shivering distress.

"Forgive me," Anna breathed as she stroked Elsa's back. She felt tears of remorse pricking her eyes. "I wanted to say it earlier, darling, believe me I did, I just… I…"

Elsa suddenly pulled herself out of Anna's embrace and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I saw it, Anna, remember? This is a very great revolution, and it overtook you quite quickly. You do not need my forgiveness, yet still I forgive you." A smile broke out on her weary and worn face. "Yet would you indulge me, honey? Say it again. I… I need to hear it once more."

Anna smiled, so generous and abundant. "Elsa, I'm in love with you."

This time it was Elsa who lifted her neck to the fire-dappled light of Anna's bedchamber. Anna stared at that pearly expanse of neck as she had so many times before, yet never had her desire to touch it and explore it been this acute!

Elsa closed her eyes and lifted her neck and seemed to momentarily float on Anna's words, as if they would buoy her up forever on the skin of her own endless sea.

And when she brought her head down once again and opened her eyes to gaze upon Anna, Anna saw naked yearning and palpable desire engraved upon those beloved eyes.

Elsa turned her head, coughed lightly, and then grasped Anna's nearest hand once more as she said, "Dearest, do you remember the day I returned to you from London, after my Master passed away?"

Anna reluctantly tore her eyes away from Elsa's soft lips and focused on Elsa's eyes. "Yes."

"I said…"

"You are my home now," Anna finished, easily bringing these precious words from the hoard inside her mind. "You are the only place I want to be."

Elsa looked surprised, but only for a moment. "Anna, I was already in love with you that day. I… it was the day of your great pain… the day I thought I was going to lose you."

 _Wait, that was this September, 1924…_ Anna distantly thought as she listened to Elsa speak.

"Powerless in the face of your struggle, I looked upon you and realized what had happened. I knew that day I had feelings for you that, as a nurse, I shouldn't have. So I made myself a mountain, again. I buried my feelings. I couldn't admit them to myself. I would only open myself to such pain, such heartache." She shakily inhaled. "I had already suffered, so very much. I couldn't bear the thought of any more. So time passed. And I denied you. Even as, day by day, I fell in love with you more and more."

"So how did that change?" Anna asked, forcing herself to focus on her dearest love, ignoring the continuing vibration of all the words they had spoken, the words that still leaped so joyously in the air like great candy fishes.

"The day of my birthday ride," Elsa admitted. "You had given me ample time to think, and the only thing on my mind that day was you. That was the day I truly discovered what you had come to mean to me. That was the day I discovered that I had underestimated you, yet again. Once again I would deny the impact you could bring to my life, if only I could accept you. Oh, when I think of the time I lost…"

"Time passes for a reason, Elsa. We are not perfect," Anna interrupted. "Don't regret that passage of time. God knows I don't. To think that the universe knew I needed you so long ago, so that you fell upon those boulders in India. And then to send you to Leif during the war. And finally you came to me. Elsa, can you not see the inherent design and wonder in it all? We may not understand its necessity, nor its beauty, but that should not mean we cannot look at these things in awe. God, Elsa, what does it all mean?"

Elsa's face was completely serious as she took in Anna's impassioned words. She continued to hold Anna's hand as she said, "Only that we are truly meant for each other. More than anyone in the world. Anna, I adored my Catriona. But what I feel for you… honey, it scares me."

"Why, Elsa? Why does it scare you?"

Elsa abruptly stopped, and swallowed.

Anna allowed her this moment of distress, of panic and pain. She allowed it, for she knew just what could be built upon the ashes of such emotion, just what could be created from such chaos and destruction.

A stray cow on wintery train tracks had obliterated her entire life.

That same cow had brought her here. Right here.

To the greatest glory and wonder that could ever await a human being.

Her beloved's eyes reddened yet again, and Elsa softly squeezed her hand. Naked agony was in her voice as she said, "It scares me because I… I want to be your lover, Anna. Actually, I want to be your life partner, in every single sense of the word. And…" Elsa's voice hitched, and Anna's heart broke to hear Elsa's agony exposed, "And in this I must be denied. My place in your world is bounded, and we both know it."

Anna swallowed the timbre of those words, because she recognized the truth in them. The same dire thoughts had been circulating in her mind.

She was a Dowager Baroness. Elsa was her therapist. These things could not change. These things were bounded.

But then she set those thoughts aside, for space had been created for them, here and now. Scarborough was a bubble, and one day it would burst, but until then…

Until then, Anna would take what the universe offered her, and she wouldn't regret a single moment of it.

"That may be true, my love," Anna softly replied. "But for now we have… we have…"

Pause.

"What do we have?" Elsa asked, low and desperate.

Anna knew how to answer.

Anna deliberately disengaged their hands. She lifted one hand and stroked the length of Elsa's cheek before sliding her hand into the wondrous, silky flood of unencumbered silvery hair. With that hand she gripped the nape of Elsa's neck, and with the other she cupped Elsa's chin, capturing the cobalt ocean of Elsa's eyes.

Those beloved eyes were so tortured, so divine!

"We have this," she whispered, before pulling Elsa's mouth onto hers.

There was no hesitation on Elsa's part. Elsa's lips clasped onto Anna's own as Anna began to kiss her. Anna needed to prove her devotion; she needed more than words to express the emotions that flung all rampant in her heart. So many words had been said this evening; now they needed action, to solidify and strengthen all these strange vibratory words.

Just as the night of the aurora, Elsa's hands lifted to tentatively grasp Anna's neck and shoulders as Anna's lips continued to slowly move against Elsa's.

For despite all they had said, Anna still felt a little scared and unsure. The kiss lasted only moments before her fragile courage began to fade. Delirious and a little frightened, Anna began to withdraw, sorrow and elation both cresting on the surge of her courageous tide.

Their lips separated for only a heartbeat, maybe two.

But then Elsa whimpered as she wrapped her arms around Anna's upper body and pressed her lips back against Anna's. Anna sharply inhaled as a soft and warm mouth completely covered hers; then there was no space left in her addled brain for anything remotely like thought, for Elsa's breasts were sweetly pressed against her own, and her hands roamed upward to delve into Anna's red hair, and her lips were moving like a conscious creature against Anna's; and Anna was swept up in a raging flood of arousal and desire, more incandescent than she believed possible at her age; Anna opened her mouth to breathe again and Elsa moved with her, allowing her this breath, this space, before taking her lips and _tilting_ them, her hands gentle but oh so firm on Anna's face and neck as she kissed her yet again, her lips firmer now, her honeyed breath a tempest; Anna's whole healing body igniting somehow, silver and argent streaks of lightning raging down her recovered spine, bottoming out her stomach, flooding into the glorious depths of her pelvis; the depth of this need, of Elsa's _longing_ was just a little too intense, and a small measure of fear again appeared in the back of Anna's throat.

It was too much, too soon.

Somehow Elsa must have sensed her minuscule distress, for she held Anna tight a moment longer, kissing her so very deeply one more time, before she pulled away.

Only to hold Anna once again in her arms; Anna felt her trembling. Oh, she could taste Elsa on her lips; she could still feel her own desire raging bright. This was exactly what she had been waiting for, all the many years of her life!

For the woman she loved was pressed against her body, and Anna felt Elsa thrumming underneath her own magnificent hands. "Forgive me," Elsa whispered into Anna's ear. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just… Anna, if you only knew what you do to me, how greatly I desire you. Oh, how I've wanted you!" Elsa softly chuckled a dire and low laugh as she momentarily clutched Anna even tighter.

"You need no forgiveness, not now, not ever," Anna breathed. "Oh, Elsa. How did you know I needed you tonight? How did you know I needed all of this?"

Elsa pulled away, though Anna could sense her reluctance in doing so. They looked each other in the eyes as Elsa said, "Because sometimes I'm smart enough to listen to the universe when it tells me to do something. Sometimes my intuition actually works. Oh, sweetheart, if I hadn't been so sick and confused today, I could have noticed your torment earlier. I could have spared you this pain." As if to punctuate her words, Elsa turned her face to her elbow and coughed weakly, just as she had been doing these last days of her illness.

"Pain is a gift like any other, Elsa. As you once told me, pain gives us boundaries for our endurance, and provides limits to our experience. It has never been your job to spare me pain. Indeed, I would have despised you as I despised all my other nurses if you had done so.

"Maybe… maybe the universe loves me, too. To bring me such beauty as you, Elsa, and these moments we are sharing… How I despised that stray cow that so radically altered my fate, how I cursed it and God all those months I sat in the hospital, my paralyzed legs in traction, my body erupting in sores, my spirit withering until all I wanted was death… I couldn't see you, Elsa. I couldn't see any of this. There was only darkness, only doubt. No beauty. No hope. No love."

Anna touched Elsa's cheek yet again as she spoke and then leaned forward to kiss Elsa once more, calmer now, more able to appreciate the softness and warmth of Elsa's lips. The sensation of wonder was so strong, erasing that last tiny thread of fear and trepidation. It helped that Elsa was just so incredibly kissable, in how her lips moved so gently in return.

When Anna withdrew, Elsa breathed slowly and deeply, her forehead once again against Anna's. "That's the very nature of the endless sea, sweetie," Elsa breathed. "We're not allowed to see what is on the other side. We have to operate on faith."

"Damn it," Anna swore with a smile.

Elsa laughed with her and then sat back. The firelight was so generous and lovely on her pearly skin.

Anna felt changed, as if the actual chemistry of her body had been altered. All her atoms seemed to vibrate in a new way, lifted from a previous emanation of existence to one completely new.

Perhaps this was part of what the sages referred to as transcendence!

Elsa unexpectedly laughed again, a light and joyous chuckle.

God, how Anna loved to hear Elsa laugh!

"What is it?" Anna asked.

"As I've said before, I'm no paragon, Anna. It wasn't exactly easy just barging into your thoughts and your room tonight. I would hate for you to have an overly exalted opinion of me. I'm just a woman, a flawed one at that, who occasionally happens to get things right."

"But you are mine now, aren't you?" Anna dared ask. Her great soul demanded it. Her universe cried out for truth, for belonging, for possession.

"Yes, honey. I am now, and always will be, only yours. I'll never love anyone but you for the rest of my life."

Anna couldn't tear her eyes away from Elsa's mouth. She wanted it again so badly.

She wanted Elsa's everything.

The universe that danced inside her love, she wanted to explore it, to touch it with her questioning fingers, with her curious tongue. She wanted to sit like bait inside the lion's mouth, to devour, and be devoured.

"Elsa, can I…"

"Anything, Anna. From now on, I will deny you nothing."

Anna felt so young, like the petal of a tulip newly unfurled. Her curiosity and hunger raged within her. "Darling, can I… can I explore you?"

"Dear god, yes."

Her heart still between those strong nourished teeth, Anna shifted her position and pulled Elsa further onto her bed, deliberately helping Elsa sit more comfortably, so conscious now of this choice, this woman so radiant and beautiful in the firelight before her, and then she once again grasped Elsa's face and neck with her sighing expectant hands before covering Elsa's mouth with her own. Elsa remained stiller and quieter than before, giving Anna a peaceful sacred space to experience every aspect of her lips and mouth. Anna caressed the nape of Elsa's neck as she kissed Elsa again and again, somewhat slow and decadent kisses, and Elsa was so responsive in her hands, so delightfully welcoming.

And Anna very quickly learned that Elsa would gasp in delight if Anna kissed her rather hard, and that Elsa's tongue, when she finally dared touch it with her own, was velvet and soft. She experienced the timbre of Elsa's breath when Anna tilted her mouth to kiss her from another angle; how that breath hitched in ecstasy as they kissed.

Oh, how incredibly young she felt, how vital!

Anna continued to explore Elsa's lips and with every moment that passed she grew bolder. Elsa was so pleasantly submissive beneath her, responding to Anna's every whim with more kisses, more sighs, more beloved hitches of breath. Only when she dared to nibble on Elsa's lower lip did her companion suddenly draw in a breath and pull so slightly away.

Before Anna could worry, Elsa shakily exhaled and whispered, her voice husky, "My god, Anna. If we don't stop now, I won't be able to stop."

Anna's courage, elation, and the universe of her desire all united into the words she spoke next. "Please, please don't stop. Oh, Elsa…"

Nothing could have prepared her for Elsa's ardent response. All signs of submission disappeared as Elsa's mouth clasped onto hers again, this time hot and hard and fierce. It was Anna's turn to gasp in delighted surprise as Elsa's arms wrapped around Anna's body, actually lifting her and pulling her downwards on the bed. Anna kept her hands on Elsa's neck, in her glossy silvery hair. Then down, down they both went, onto the bed, Anna's head on the pillow and Elsa above her, her body draped upon Anna's. Elsa's teeth grazed Anna's lower lip, and then she opened Anna's mouth with her insatiable tongue.

Ravenous for Elsa, Anna gasped in surprise and endless delight.

And Elsa dove inside, somehow Elsa slipped within her, with her tongue she parted Anna's lips and she appeared inside Anna's mouth, with abundant majesty, with celestial enchantment. Oh, what a delirious sensation this kiss aroused, as Elsa's tongue sought Anna's own.

Oh, how she pressed against Anna, how desperate was her inhalation, how lavish her lips, as she slid within Anna's mouth and her fingers delved in Anna's hair and her body pressed with such fervour, yet with such fragility and unsteadiness!

Then, even as she stroked Anna's tongue with her own, her hand began to drift lower, touching a beautifully sweet and sensitive spot on Anna's neck. Anna's flesh was displaced in a glorious shiver; it was a spot that Anna had never even known existed before.

Then Elsa lifted her hand, and placed it fully and completely on Anna's breast.

The consciousness of it was blinding; Anna's longing _ruptured_ , and her desire became a spooling, writhing thing. She opened her mouth wider as Elsa's hand grasped her breast; when Elsa touched the tender tip of it, Anna broke their kiss as some aching love cry escaped her lips.

The _intention_ of it fractured her.

There was no laudanum here, no fuzziness, no twilight of mixed unbearable emotions.

Elsa's beloved face was an inch from her own; she held Anna's breast in her hand and looked upon Anna like she was a treasure hidden across time, a hoard so carefully excavated and brought to precious light. She held Anna's breast as if there were no greater thing in all the world.

And then there was mischief on Elsa's face, the same mischief Anna had seen time and again.

Time momentarily ceased to have meaning.

Anna saw Elsa's mischievous face and thought of a lopsided vase of flowers, a basket of kittens, and honey drizzled baklava. She thought of sitting in the garden and seeing Elsa wearing trousers, walking her long-legged stride on her way to the stables. A hand lifted in greeting as gulls screeched overhead. Anna now realized that she had tasted desire for Elsa that very day.

Elsa grinned and then she let herself fall to the middle of the bed, her nightgown trailing over Anna's body. She urged Anna to move with her, until Elsa was on her back in the middle of the bed, and Anna was on her side, facing her.

Elsa reached for Anna again, drawing her mouth onto hers in a hard and fierce kiss. Anna could barely contain herself as she allowed herself to be deeply and thoroughly kissed. Somewhere within the kiss, she felt Elsa's hand move; she wrapped her hand around Anna's and spun it upwards, until Anna felt Elsa place her hand consciously and beautifully upon Elsa's own breast.

For the first time in her life, Anna felt this most beloved flesh under her sentient and inquisitive hand. She couldn't help herself; she lightly squeezed Elsa's breast, immediately astonished at the feel of it under her hand. Gods, how glorious it was!

It was Elsa's turn to rupture their kiss; she _writhed_ underneath Anna and lifted her head in ecstasy, exposing her long and perfect neck. "Ohh," Elsa sighed, her voice rich and husky.

For months Anna had stared at that neck. Wanting it. Desiring it.

And now? It was hers.

Elsa was hers.

In looking at that neck and knowing it belonged to her, Anna knew that she had to touch it with her lips. There was truth embedded in Elsa's neck, and Anna's fingers weren't talented enough; this truth would require lips, and mouth, and tongue.

So Anna leaned forward, holding Elsa's neck with one hand as she pressed her lips against the hollow of Elsa's throat. She pressed hard, and then she opened her mouth and laved this beloved spot with the tip of her tongue, even as she tenderly squeezed Elsa's breast once more, running her thumb over the triumphantly aroused tip of it.

"My god, Anna," she unexpectedly heard Elsa whimper, her voice breathless. "I can't bear this. Anna, please…"

Anna heard her plaintive cry, and reluctantly lifted her head.

The fire was dying for lack of tending, and the light was becoming dim in her chamber. Elsa's eyes were darkened, and suddenly ancient and wounded. "Surely you must know what will come if we continue this way," Elsa whispered as she lifted a hand to caress Anna's cheek. "My darling, I hate to stop here, but I do not yet have the strength for love-making. Please forgive me…"

Anna pressed her finger against Elsa's lips. "Hush, my love. Let us no longer ask for forgiveness."

For a moment longer Anna looked at her lover, there in the gloaming firelight, the universe so sombre and resplendent in her eyes. Never in her life had Anna seen any woman so beautiful, so frail and so lovely.

 _For that is what she is now. Elsa Wolff is no longer your nurse and therapist. She is your lover, and you do not regret it._

 _Indeed, all you can do is bless it, and thank all the gods for it._

 _To have, to cherish, as long as possible, before finally letting go._

Elsa stayed quiet, her eyes somehow pleading.

 _I am no paragon, Anna_.

No, she was no paragon. She was no knight, either, to carry Anna away on the pommel of an otherworldly horse, rescuing Anna from her troubles, taking her away from them.

Elsa was just a woman, but never would Anna look at her or any other human being the same way ever again, for now she knew of the singular universe that dwelled within every single soul, now she had become acquainted with the endless sea that inhabited every being; this knowledge of divinity to knock again and again at the doors of her consciousness, and Anna couldn't believe she had been gifted with courage enough to answer, that she had finally been able to say 'yes' to this woman and all Elsa would offer.

What else could she learn to say _yes_ to?

What else could she experience, even in a small and transient way?

This opened door would change everything. Anna could _feel_ it, down to the marrow of her perfect bones.

"Anna?" Elsa whispered, lifting a hand to tuck a wayward tendril of hair back behind Anna's ear. Her lips seemed slightly swollen with the intensity of Anna's kisses. "Tell me your thoughts. Please?"

What a marvellous question this was! Oh, to share the innermost thoughts and feelings with someone, surely this is what made people actual _partners_.

She already knew that Elsa greatly desired this, this sharing, this partnership. And, at this point, Anna would give Elsa anything she desired. She, too, would deny her nothing.

"My life has been a series of closed doors, Elsa," Anna breathed as she propped herself on her elbow so she could look into Elsa's eyes. She kept her hand on Elsa's breast as she continued; "Having you in my life has knocked upon every closed and locked door of my consciousness. I never knew my own divinity. I never realized my perfection. What a diminished, lesser creature I had always been compared to the epitome of my husband, Hans. But then the accident came, and then you came, and you taught me everything. Everything I had been missing. Can you ever comprehend what a blessing you are? Can you understand what you mean to me?"

When Anna leaned down to kiss Elsa again, it was as if the thinnest of veils separated her from her lover, a veil that Anna recognized.

For Elsa bore at least one last great secret, something about a book, something about lightning.

Something about this illness, that had rendered her near helpless for a number of days.

But as Anna withdrew from this last kiss, and saw the abject thanksgiving in Elsa's eyes, she finally understood the power of words.

Earlier, when she had finally admitted her own love for Elsa, she had seen what those words had done. And now, to reiterate Elsa's worth in Anna's eyes, Anna realized something.

Sometimes words were useless, and action was all that was required. A kiss, perhaps, when a kiss was needed.

Yet sometimes words were all that mattered.

For words were vibration.

And the great spinning universe itself swirled endlessly upon vibration. For what was the universe but a billion billion endless seas, the thoughts and utterings of a billion billion humans and animals and trees, and the ecstatic spinning of atoms within every living thing?

God, never had Anna ever imagined that her words of love could provide the foundation for the very universe itself, that her feelings toward another human could positively impact the very spinning of the stars in the firmament.

Anna looked upon her beloved, her Elsa, and her heart somehow expanded even further in love, a great and expansive love like Yggdrasil of old; a tree whose roots extended into the past, whose branches and fruit projected into the future, whose trunk was so vast it could withstand any thunderstorm.

Even the thunderstorm of their different stations, and how they could not be the perfect partners they each so desired. Some tempest would eventually tear them apart, and force them to go their separate ways.

For Elsa could not stay. Once Anna was healed, Elsa would leave her. Elsa herself had said it, and Anna knew it was the truth.

Even now, Anna could not bear that thought, so she focused on Elsa's presence instead. She was in love with Elsa, and Elsa was in love with her.

For this moment, it was more than enough.

So she stroked Elsa's lower lip with her thumb and whispered, "Can you see me, Elsa? Can you see how much I love you? How much I adore you?"

Elsa lifted her hand, to touch the pale scar on Anna's forehead, before tracing Anna's ear and then cupping her jaw; her finger was a firebrand on Anna's skin. God, did her fever yet remain?

"Oh, yes," Elsa murmured. "I see you. I see it all."

And then Elsa leaned forward to kiss Anna once more, soft and lingering.

When Elsa withdrew, Anna realized that her lover was only dimly lit by firelight. The last coals of the fire were winking out, and Anna ached for sleep.

But in this moment, and in every moment to come, Anna could not bear to be parted from her.

Scarborough was a bubble. And, for now, she would happily dwell in the nucleus of it. She cared not for the future bursting. The now was enough.

"Elsa, will you stay with me through the night? Will you hold me?"

"What if I cough?" Elsa unexpectedly said, her voice small and embarrassed. "What if my legs jerk, and I wake you?"

"Then cough. Wake me. Kiss me as payment. And we'll sleep again. Together."

Elsa smiled. "I'm so glad to hear it. Because nothing would make me happier than sleeping with you."

Elsa slipped out of her robe, revealing a satin nightgown that left her shoulders bare. Anna felt another wave of desire rush through her at the thought of sleeping next to Elsa; the same sleep she had denied herself the night of Elsa's illness. Anna also shrugged out of her robe and then settled into the sheets. She felt awkward and nervous and strangely shy.

Elsa quickly plaited her hair into a braid, and then reached for the spare pillow, fluffing it before lying upon it. Then she lifted the sheet just a little and crooned, "Come to me, baby."

Anna crept close to Elsa, there in the silky welcoming darkness, Elsa's arm outstretched, her body open and ready to receive her. Anna nestled close to her, put her head on Elsa's shoulder and draped her arm over Elsa's stomach and breast. "Is this all right?" she breathed into Elsa's ear.

Elsa wrapped her arms around her and held her close. "Yes." Elsa took a long inhale and exhale; Anna felt herself move up and down with the depth of it. "Oh, how amazing it is to hold you, to have you in my arms. Are you sure I'm not dreaming all of this?"

Anna craned her neck upwards to gently kiss Elsa's lips once more, even as she softly squeezed that beautiful breast in her hand. Elsa made a sound of pure delight.

"This is no dream," Anna said, though those words occupied some other space in her memory. Elsa said them, that night of the great shiver. She had said other words as well.

 _(I'm dying, sweetheart_

 _my world is ending)_

"Sleep now, my darling," Anna continued. "For I'll be here when you wake. We're together now."

Elsa's eyes were already drifting shut, her limbs becoming soft and loose. "Good night, Anna," she muzzily whispered.

"Good night, Elsa."

So Elsa fell asleep. Her arms fell away from Anna.

Yet Anna remained where she was, nestled against Elsa's warm and supple body. She rose and fell with Elsa's breath. She felt the endless thrum of Elsa's energy under the palm of her hand and was so grateful she finally recognized the true source of that energy.

Their endless seas, their singular universes, would merge for a time before drifting apart.

For that was the way of things.

And Anna was strong enough to bear it.

...

Author's Note: my dear readers, I _agonized_ over this chapter, I wrote it again and again. I do not have this love, this relationship that these beloved characters share. But I believe in it. I believe it is real. The truths I spoke of, the endless sea I've mentioned, this is something I have discovered for myself. I hope and pray that you can also discover it. It will change everything, if you let it.

I am the endless sea. And so are you.

-Jen


	22. Chapter 21 - Renunciation

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 **Renunciation**

Elsa was dreaming, although she didn't know it. She was thrashing on the surface of water; not the calm, placid, Anna-blessed water of the resort pool in Scarborough, either; but the frothy voracious lightning-struck water of the North Sea.

The cruise ship had already sunk, pulled under the black oil of water by grasping tentacles of water monsters that dwelled below. She had a flimsy rubber dinghy in her arms, half inflated, all that kept her from drowning. Two words were written on the dinghy, stamped in large letters. _Amor fati._ It made no sense; that had not been the name of the ship!

Elsa had already watched her guidebook float away from her grasp before it, too, sank underneath the churning storm-tossed waves. She had tried to reach for it, for she needed it as evidence for her lady, she needed the postcard inside it as proof of her claims, but between one moment and the next, it was gone.

How could Anna believe her now?

Elsa was left to her desperate struggle to stay alive, even as thunder continued to roll, even as orange lightning continued to slice the midnight sky, tearing it, wounding it. One struck so near her that electricity ripped through the water, seeking her, striking her, somehow cracking open the ancient scar on her back, gashing that old wound open so that she bled anew.

Elsa whimpered. Her blood looked as dark as oil and tar in the midnight-stained water, even as it caught the immense and aged interest of the monsters below.

At the first sensation of a slimy curious touch on her foot, Elsa moaned and kicked.

The kick was real enough; Elsa launched herself out of her nightmare as her legs violently jerked in the sheets, to her surprise, she struck something solid with her feet and heard a startled yelp.

Heart pounding, eyes wide in the unfamiliar dark, Elsa clawed herself to wakefulness only to see Anna's pale frightened beloved face before her.

Admirably, Anna regained her composure first. "Els," she breathed, even as she reached for Elsa, to touch her face and hold her arm. "Are you all right?"

"I kicked you," Elsa breathed, more upset than she should be, for she still felt the malicious curious intent of that monster under the waves, she still felt the radiant heat from the broken wound on her back that spilled so much blood. "Oh, Anna, I'm sorry."

"Stop that. Were you dreaming?"

"Yes," Elsa replied, her heart still racing. She deliberately took several deep breaths, trying to rein in the confused clatter of her heart. But her breath stuck in her lungs, and a cavernous wince appeared under her diaphragm, and Elsa realized she couldn't take such a deep breath as she wished.

She forced away the first bolt of despair that struck her and focused instead on the face before her, barely seen in the near-pitch darkness of Anna's bedchamber.

For she was in Anna's bed. They had kissed each other to the pads of their tongues, to the deep silkiness of their mouths, before falling asleep entangled in each other's arms. Elsa took as deep a breath as she could before that wince would appear, and blew the breath softly over her lips, allowing a sense of gratitude to erase the horror of her dream.

"What were you dreaming about?" Anna asked, her voice thick and muzzy with sleep. She still held Elsa's arm, though her touch was already softening.

"A monster, I think," Elsa whispered. "A monster in the water." She could see Anna's sleepy mind trying to process Elsa's words. "It doesn't matter, Anna. Go back to sleep."

"Where's my kiss?" Anna asked, her eyes already fluttering shut again.

This time the wince was in the very center of Elsa's chest, a sharp barb filled with acute pain that quickly passed. She lifted her hand, glad to see that it no longer trembled, and stroked the length of Anna's face, from that silvery scar on her forehead, down to her chin, and then her mouth descended as she pressed her lips against Anna's. Anna barely pressed back in response; Elsa could sense the pull of sleep on her. So she kissed her, and caressed her, and said, "Sleep now, Anna. Sleep, my darling, my heart."

Anna seemed to still almost immediately, yet Elsa waited a few moments longer before she swung herself out of Anna's bed; the floor was cold, so she pulled on the socks that she had tossed aside the night before. Anna's hand sought hers; when she came up empty, she opened her eyes just slightly and asked, "Are you coming back? Please come back."

"I'm coming back." Elsa had to stretch first, her joints aching and old, and then she felt the cool bite of the chamber upon her skin as she strode from the room to the bathroom to use the toilet. After she was finished, she washed her hands and thought about that jerk of her legs, that wince in her chest. She had been told of these things, she had been warned that they would come, but it was still disheartening to experience them firsthand. Especially with such increasing regularity as these last few weeks.

Her heart somewhat heavy, Elsa returned to Anna's bedchamber. She crept back between the sheets. Steeped in sleep, Anna nonetheless mewed a little as she sought the comfort and warmth of Elsa's body; Elsa shuffled even closer to her and then drew Anna to her, marvelling in the fact that this body was next to hers, that Anna was finally hers.

Anna snuggled briefly into Elsa's body, before she sank into sleep as if sinking under celestial, welcoming water.

But for Elsa, her world was still churning, still frothing, still struck by lightning, and it was a very long time before she could once again claim the bliss of unconsciousness.

Hours later, it was pain that woke her, pain that had become even more intimate and familiar than the lady sleeping next to her. If she had dreamed again, she didn't know it, for a cramp delved deep into her back, accompanied with a sharp spike of pain that impaled what was left of her kidney. It was enough to rouse her, blinking and incoherent, from her troubled sleep, banishing all vestiges of her dreams.

She cautiously rubbed her back even as she immediately turned in the sheets, to creep from them once more in order to visit the toilet, so incredibly glad to return to this room and not to her own. Dawn was just starting to stain the sky a fuchsia-tinted peach colour; it had a most magical quality that Elsa remembered from early morning meditations in the mountains. As she returned to Anna's bed, she was glad to see that Anna slept on, and smiled to see the rather dishevelled mess of Anna's hair.

Sliding with exquisite care back into Anna's bed, desperate not to wake her, Elsa settled on the spare pillow and looked at her lady. Then Elsa must have drifted in snatches of sleep, for the quality of light in the room had definitely changed when Elsa came to full awareness once more, finding that she must have turned to face the wall.

She stretched, so very carefully, that pain in her back seemingly comfortable and confident to stay just where it was; her lower back felt like corrugated tin, and her stomach was aching and sore. Yet an appreciative smile emerged on her lips as she heard a light snore; Elsa turned over and beheld her lady still asleep on the pillow next to her.

Anna slept on her side, facing Elsa. Another snore, neither so light nor delicate, emerged from her partially open mouth. Elsa's heart squeezed in immense love, affection and wonder. How lovely Anna was, even all sleep-mussed and snoring. Elsa was thankful to have this moment to gaze upon her, beholding the peace of her features. Her face had become so treasured, from the pale scar on the edge of her forehead to the streaks of gray in her rich red hair to her heart-shaped mouth. Elsa loved everything she saw, especially the fine wrinkles by Anna's eyes and mouth that spoke of her trials and her laughter. Elsa could spend hours contemplating that face and all the grace, beauty, and strength she saw within.

Even now, just looking at those lips, Elsa wanted them. She wanted Anna's heated hands on her skin; she wanted Anna's mouth against her throat. Elsa had been the one to halt their love-making the night before; for reasons that were not entirely honest. She had said she hadn't the strength to make love to Anna. That was only partially true.

For Elsa also had a tattoo on her lower back. It had been so magnificent and intact once, but was now misshapen by burns and other scars. It was a wolf head, stylized and somehow geometric like a mandala, and how Cati had loved to trace the lines of it, both before and after its particular ruination. Such tattoos were common in Elsa's true place and time, but they were not at all common here. How could she explain it to Anna without explaining it all?

Elsa no longer wondered _if_ she might tell her lady the truth about the sea, the ship, and the lightning. It was only a question of _when._

A final irrational fear remained, despite Elsa's long meditations.

It might be too much for Anna. Elsa's truth might be the final straw. It was possible that this knowledge might tear them apart, and rupture the fragile peace they had created.

And if it did, then at least Elsa would retain her memories of the night before. She would remember how it felt to kiss Anna senseless, how glorious it was to hold Anna's breast and brush against the aroused tip of it. She had seen Anna's body writhe, and knew how desperate Anna was for her touch.

Now, as many times before in these few months in Anna's service, Elsa tried not to think unkindly of Anna's former husband, the wretched miserable pitiful fool he had been! How had he disdained this amazing woman so?

Elsa continued to rub her lower back, slowly, carefully, while listening to Anna snore. She wouldn't borrow trouble against the future, not now. For she was experiencing a moment she had only fantasized about for so long; she and Anna had slept together, sharing a bed. They were waking up together. It was promise enough of more mornings like this, and more evenings like the night before, at least until Elsa was brave enough to unveil her truth.

Her truth about the sea, the ship, and the lightning was a great wall she could not see beyond.

But she had hope now; hope that Anna could accept her truth. Because Anna had finally admitted that she was in love with Elsa.

Anna was in love with her. Elsa melted to think of it.

Oh, how difficult yesterday had been! Elsa had stammered and stumbled towards wellness, her spirit quailing under Anna's persistent heart-wrenching silence. How awful it had been to leave her company after lunch; Elsa had actually felt weak, and held the doorframe for support before practically fainting on the couch in the lounge. Kate had found her there a few hours later, roused her and told her Lady Skaldenfoss had called for her. Still reeling with exhaustion and illness, Elsa nevertheless appeared as summoned, determined to act the correct part for the lady she loved, even though she at first needed to hold Anna's wheelchair in order to stay upright herself.

And although Elsa desperately wanted to see Anna dance with her son on Christmas Eve, she knew that she just was not well enough to resume her rehabilitation schedule as before. Perhaps she could take Anna into the pool, and, if she rested, she could give Anna a massage later on, but her previous twelve-hour days were now beyond her.

Perhaps forever.

 _Don't feel sorry for yourself. You knew this would happen._

 _But this? Hearing that the woman you love, loves you? You longed for it, but dared not pursue it._

 _So accept it. Accept all of it. And thank God for it._

Despite Elsa's broken sleep, she felt somewhat refreshed; perhaps it was just her great joy that made her feel this unbearably light, as if she could float away. The morning light was just so expansive on her lady's skin, dusting it with tones of peach and mauve. Even now, Elsa ached to touch her and hold her. She wanted to peel the clothes from Anna's body and discover every last beloved span of her.

Elsa smiled as she allowed herself a truer thought. In fact, Elsa wanted to ravage her, and hear Anna cry her name. Elsa wanted to pleasure her, to give her a loving and breathtaking release. By all accounts, Anna had not experienced this much with her late husband, if at all.

 _She said he forced himself into her bed in order to beget an heir…_

 _Damn him!_

Elsa examined the anger she felt towards this dead man, and then let it dissipate on her next exhalation. She did not want any thought of him tainting this moment. He had been a fool, but Elsa had been one as well. No wonder her Master had counselled her to just tell the truth, and share the cesspools of her secrets. This beautiful moment was the result.

So maybe, just maybe, Anna would accept Elsa's other secret. Maybe more beauty could be the result. Such as the beauty of love-making, the beauty of shared release.

So intent was she on looking at her lady, that Elsa was blessed to see every part of her awakening. First, Anna's eyelids began to move, her long sooty eyelashes fluttering. Her breathing quickened, and then she sighed and began to move in the sheets, long languorous movements that spoke of indulgence and comfort.

Then she opened her eyes.

Half-lidded yet with drowsiness and delight, Anna's eyes nevertheless shone with especial light. It was the light of dawn on a secluded lagoon, hidden within an impenetrable emerald forest, yet Elsa was there, these were her waters now, she would drown in the depths of Anna's teal green eyes and call it a blessed death.

Anna did not immediately speak. She smiled instead, and lifted her worn hand to caress Elsa's cheek. "You're here," she finally whispered, now stroking Elsa's cheek with the pad of her thumb. "You stayed."

Elsa's heart soared in gladness. Anna did not wait for her to speak. She moved her entire body, even her legs, and wrapped herself completely around Elsa, cradling her in her arms, before kissing her on the mouth. It was definitely a good morning kiss, for it was soft and sweet and, gods, too short, but then Anna tucked Elsa's head by her neck and began to stroke her back. "Oh, how nice this is," Anna murmured.

Elsa held Anna by her hips and waist and hummed in agreement; glad to be submissive in Anna's arms. Her back and stomach still ached, but being in Anna's embrace softened the edges of her unspoken pain.

Anna continued to stroke her. They breathed together for a time. Finally Anna pulled slightly away from her. Elsa lifted her head to look in her sweetheart's eyes. "How are you feeling this morning, Elsa? You seemed to have a bit of a rough night."

"It was a somewhat typical night, I'm afraid. I… don't sleep well." Elsa sighed and admitted, "That's why I was… a bit nervous about sleeping with you. I didn't want to disturb you."

"I can handle a bit of disturbing, Els," Anna replied with a smile.

Elsa smiled in return and continued, "I shouldn't overdo it today, but I think I could get you into the pool. And give you a massage later on. I've been remiss in my duties."

"You needed the rest, Elsa. I hated being able to do so little for you."

"Yes, I need the rest. But I miss you, Anna. I miss touching you."

"I seem to recall a fair amount of touching," Anna softly drawled as she drew her hand up Elsa's bare arm.

Elsa's body cascaded in a glorious shiver as she blushed and stammered, "You know what I mean, my lady!"

"Do I?" Anna continued to tease, as her hand caressed Elsa's neck before grasping it and pulling Elsa's lips onto her own. Just as Elsa leaned into the kiss, oh those luscious lips were so tantalizing, Anna grinned and broke the kiss. Elsa was amazed at Anna's playfulness; so she frowned at Anna, just to see what would happen.

"Don't pout," Anna chided. "Here." And she kissed Elsa again, a much longer kiss, reminiscent of the ones they had shared the night before. Elsa felt Anna's hands on her neck, in her hair, she felt Anna's lips moving slowly against hers. How divine!

The levity had disappeared from her face as Anna withdrew, to look at Elsa with gravity and wonder. "Thank you for coming to me last night," Anna whispered. "I needed you, and somehow you came. Never in all my fantasies could I have imagined what we experienced. The words you spoke, the taste of your lips, having your body next to mine… oh, Elsa, I never dreamed such joy could exist. I never knew that I could love anyone the way I love you. And this, to wake up in bed together, to cuddle each other; I've never had this before. It's… it's breathtaking."

"It is, isn't it?" Elsa agreed, the ache in her back stretching and growing.

Anna looked at her, and then cocked her head slightly to one side. "What's wrong, Elsa? There's something in your eyes…"

A fist of wonder and anxiety closed over Elsa's heart. She had hoped not to show the pain that flexed its claws inside her, with its darting strikes and cramping waves. Catriona had eventually been able to see Elsa's eyes, her true eyes. Elsa could hide a great deal of her omnipresent pain, but not always from her eyes.

Anna was either very perceptive or Elsa's defences were ragged. Or both.

"Just a spasm in my back," Elsa admitted. "It's already passing."

"Don't lie to me," Anna said in all seriousness. "Elsa, don't. You want to be my lover? My partner? Tell me the truth. Don't spare me. No more lies."

"I'm sorry," Elsa breathed. "I don't mean to lie. I just… I'm used to bearing this alone."

"You are _not_ alone. Not anymore." Anna punctuated her words by gripping Elsa's neck rather tightly, and her words, while low, were fierce. Before Elsa could gape at her in astonishment, Anna then commanded, "Turn over, Elsa. Lay on your front." Elsa obeyed, turning away from Anna until she lay almost completely on her front; she kept one knee bent to spare her stomach the pressure and pain.

Then Anna's hands were on her back, soft and tentative at first, as she began to rub. Elsa sighed as Anna's hands moved and glided over Elsa's back, just as she had taught her. "Where does it hurt most?" Anna asked.

"Lower," Elsa prompted, until Anna found the right spot. "Ah," Elsa gasped. "There. But be gentle. Please."

"Of course, darling." Anna's hands were indeed gentle as she massaged Elsa's back, her hands tripping over the cloth. "You could take off your shift, you know," Anna then prompted, her voice a little shy. "I… I wouldn't mind."

"That's not needed," Elsa said, tempering another bolt of anxiety. "This feels wonderful."

She could _sense_ the frown on Anna's face as Elsa denied her this, but Anna kept rubbing and massaging Elsa's back, all the way up and down, returning again and again to that mess of scars and aches and pain. Her loving care began to file away the rough edges of Elsa's perennial hurt.

And desire began to flourish, pulsing throughout Elsa's body, beaming in her core, tingling throughout her breasts and in the palms of her hands. Soon all of Elsa's attention was bent upon controlling herself and this desire, for all she wanted was to turn around, take Anna in her heated hands, strip her clothes from her and make love to her. She wanted Anna's breast in her mouth, Anna's hands on her body, their combined breath fierce and aching!

So her meditation became this; to breathe into this amazing moment instead of wishing for another one. To enjoy this tiny corner of heaven for as long as it could last.

To renounce her expectations of a present moment different than the one that existed. Just as her Masters had been trying to teach her, time and again.

Some time later, she could not say how much, Anna's hands finally stilled as she whispered, "Is that better?"

"Much better, thank you," Elsa replied as she slowly turned around. Anna's eyes were tight with empathy.

"Will you let me see them one day, these old wounds that pain you? Will you finally show me your scars?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because I'm not going to rush you, but you should know I'm quite eager to see what is underneath those clothes. Scars and all."

Elsa had a hard time keeping her mouth shut. Yet again she had underestimated Anna, she didn't truly understand the lady she loved.

And it did her heart a world of good to know that Anna wanted her, and desired the sight of her.

Then Anna rolled onto her back and began to fulsomely stretch. Her lovely mouth broadened yet again into a wide grin as she fully extended her legs and rotated her ankles. "My legs are working today, Elsa. Aren't they beautiful?"

"Every inch of you is beautiful," Elsa replied, regaining familiar ground. She sat up in Anna's bed, to more fully see the evidence of their hard work as Anna continued to stretch and move her legs. Now, if only Anna could walk. If only she could dance, dance with her son on Christmas Eve!

Anna sat up and continued to stretch, reaching down to touch her knees and toes. A snippet of an old nursery rhyme came to Elsa's mind _(head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes, knees and toes)_ and she laughed aloud at the memory of it.

Anna glanced over at her, and the smile she gave Elsa was a smile she had never seen before. For the first time since entering the service of the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss, Elsa saw an elusive dimple appear on Anna's cheek. "And what, pray tell, is so amusing?" Anna asked, that dimple deepening.

"You have a dimple, Anna. There, on your cheek. I've never seen it before."

"Truly? I'm not surprised. I've never been this happy before."

The simple words did something magnificent to Elsa's heart; she leaned over and took Anna's face in her hands. And although the dimple vanished before her lips could touch it, Elsa still kissed that mysterious spot on her cheek where the dimple had been.

And then she kissed Anna's mouth. Several times. She felt Anna's breath hitch underneath her, and felt Anna's hands grasp her neck and shoulders. Joy was ascendant.

And desire. Arousal. Longing. Must she wait, really? Couldn't they just have each other, right here, right now? What did she care for her tattoo, for her scars?

Out in the sitting room, the clock began to chime. It was eight o'clock.

Elsa pressed hard against Anna's welcoming lips before ducking her head into Anna's shoulder. "Don't say it's time to get up," she whispered into Anna's skin.

Anna shifted her position so she could wrap her arms around Elsa. She kissed the top of Elsa's head and said, "Don't fret, my darling. I plan on waking up next to you many, many times."

Elsa felt Anna sigh, and Anna pushed them apart. Her face was serious, pensive. "This must be said, so I'm just going to say it. We'll have to be extremely cautious and careful, Elsa, when we are around others. We must be the lady and her therapist. In public there is no other way. I will call you Wolff, and you will call me Lady Skaldenfoss, and we will save everything else for privacy."

"Don't worry, Lady Skaldenfoss," Elsa said, schooling her features in practice. "I won't betray us. I know how important this is. I'll do it, but it won't be easy."

"No. No, it won't be easy for either of us."

…

Everything was different, though nothing outwardly had changed.

Anna moved through her minutes and her hours as if she had been caught in some ineffable dream; as if the quality of light that came upon her had been altered. Perhaps it now passed through some filter, or some glass, that changed its wavelength and its chemistry, making it beloved and new.

For there was a new depth to the mundane objects she beheld with her true eyes; they vibrated with the same love that somehow suffused her entire being. Because every moment she now passed through, swimming through these moments like a sleek candy fish, she kept Elsa's love within her, she hoarded every precious moment of their first intimacy.

And in every sideways glance Elsa bestowed upon her, in every nearly casual touch given her, Anna knew she wanted more. To have come so close to fulfillment the night before; Anna found herself aching for the intimate depths of love-making with a voraciousness that surprised even her. Was she not some old woman, a grandmother even?

Oh, but how young Elsa made her feel! Her many years could not touch her, could not weigh her down, not with Elsa's insatiable gazes, her greedy hands. And now she had such renewed consciousness in her legs, and nerves that sizzled and hummed; Anna had passed through the desert wilderness of her greatest suffering, only to come upon such an expected oasis!

The joy she felt in every passing moment was indescribable. Indeed, Anna had never felt this way before; the shallow love she had given to her late husband was a single spark compared to the bonfire that now raged in her heart for Elsa Wolff. The heat was so intense she knew it would scorch her. It would wound her. She would be marked by it, and forever carry scars.

She didn't mind; let the scars come, let them remind her of Elsa when Elsa was gone.

It was enough to throw herself into this fire, for it made sense of everything that had come before, all her years of stilted suffering with Hans. So many years of duty and responsibility, of shallow sex and meaningless confidences.

In some moments the depth of her joy in Elsa scared her. To know that this joy was finite provided the only counterbalance to the soaring nature of her happiness. Elsa would leave her. It would happen one day or another.

But not today.

Today Elsa promised that she was well enough to accompany Anna back into the big pool for a short rehabilitation session. Anna slid into the fresh and cool water with a sense of complete contentment and satisfaction; she had missed this so much during Elsa's illness! For her part, Elsa was doing an admirable job of keeping her boundaries intact; she acted only as Anna's therapist as she and Anna started to exercise in the pool.

No, it was Anna who began to find this whole charade rather difficult.

Elsa had lost some weight in her illness, and she was still remarkably pale and rather breathless. Her swimming costume clung to her, showing more angles than curves. There was gravity upon her, a weight that emphasized the depth of her smile, and the slow measured height of all her movements. But the vital spark of her nature still burned incredibly strong; nay, somehow even stronger than before. Anna was hard-pressed to stop staring at her. Everyone around her stared at her, she was just that goddamn attractive!

That light… that quality of light was apparent even here, and Anna could scarcely keep breathing or acting normally. Not when the light painted Elsa's features in this radiant palette, softening the haggard planes of her body, alighting with majestic delicacy upon her eyelashes and platinum hair, giving her snowy skin a pearly glow!

Oh, Anna was so enchanted by her. How… how was it possible that Elsa was hers, that Elsa loved her?

This maundering occupied every spare corner of her mind that was not engaged in obeying Elsa's orders. For orders she gave, for Anna to float, and then stand, and then bounce, and then swim about. Anna was immediately astonished to find that her knees bent as she swam, just as good knees should. They had returned to her so recently that she was still astonished by their obedience.

The training session, albeit short, was still tiring to the Dowager Baroness; yet Elsa looked just as exhausted as Anna began to feel. Just before Anna had to admit to her fatigue, Elsa had her stop working. She held Anna's hands and then they stood together in the pool, the water just past their waists. "Close your eyes," Elsa urged. Anna slowly did as she was told. "You are so strong, Lady Skaldenfoss," Elsa whispered. "Your nerves are a golden web, your legs are perfect and whole. Your knees, your ankles, your toes; they are part of you again, now and forever. _Feel_ into your legs, my lady, send your thought into them, and thank them for coming back to you."

Such commands were no longer strange or foreign to the Dowager Baroness. She simply did as she was told, feeling her way down her legs, imagining the strong golden web of her nerves, even as she rejoiced in the sensation of grit under the soles of her feet.

Even as she rejoiced in the slick coolness of Elsa's hands holding hers.

She felt Elsa shift her position in the water, until they were facing each other. "Keep your eyes closed," Elsa murmured. "No peeking."

"All right."

"Lift one foot. Put it back down. Lift the other. Put it down. Once more, and again." Anna obeyed these commands, though she felt a little silly doing so. Elsa had her do this five times or so when she felt a sudden tug on her hands, drawing her forward.

Anna's eyes flew open and saw Elsa getting further away from her. With a great squeeze of her heart, Anna stepped forward to close that gap, to be near the woman she loved.

And, just like that, Anna took the first conscious walking steps she had taken in eleven months.

She took several such steps before this realization crashed down upon her. Her eyes flew open even wider, a broad excited smile erupting on her lips. "Don't stop," Elsa begged, her voice low, only for Anna's ears. "Come to me, my heart."

Elsa took another step back, deeper into the pool. Their fingers nearly separated.

Anna controlled a whimper as she stepped forward, closing that gap. Some part of her consciousness was aware of silence in the pool room, the injured servicemen and their attendants all standing still, watching them.

For this victory of Anna's was also theirs; they watched Anna Arendelle, Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss, walk in the water, and, as if they were children again, they believed in miracles.

For a miracle this was, that legs once paralyzed became conscious enough to walk once more. A spirit, once doused, had been brought back to glorious life. A soul, once thought abandoned, had been gathered into the bosom of a benevolent universe.

These were the gifts that crossed the palms of Elsa Wolff's hands.

These were the gifts that took their own terrible toll on Elsa's own health and strength.

Yet of this pain, of this price, Elsa remained stubbornly silent.

…

There was a distinct buzz in the air as they took their luncheon in the Great Hall. Anna sat with her peers, the Countess, the other ladies and gentlemen, and pretended not to hear the low tones that spoke of her victory this morning in the pool. Yes, it was a victory to walk in the water, to take the first deliberate steps on her own two feet for the first time in nearly a year.

But Anna was bent on achieving another victory, that of not letting every errant gaze fall upon her lover, seated there with the other therapists and staff, so very far away from her.

This became her singular world; focusing her attention on the formidable Countess and her circuitous conversation, supplying the right query and the right response at just the right moment, bringing her wit and skill to bear despite the exaltation in her breast, despite the anxiety that clouded her wits, despite the tiredness that pulled on her muscles.

She was not the only one who was drained, for Elsa was most definitely wilting. When Anna dared stray her gaze in Elsa's direction, she could see that Elsa barely ate anything. Her shoulders were slumped, her aspect that of someone yet clearly ill. She did not seem to participate in the lively discussion at that table.

All this Anna saw when she pretended not to be looking, and she knew that the Countess saw right through her.

"All congratulations are due to your devoted therapist," the Countess said in her sharp voice after seeing Anna glance in Elsa's direction. "Yet it seems that Miss Wolff is yet ill, is she not, Anna? What loyalty she must feel to you, to work when she herself is ailing."

"Indeed, Miss Wolff has been the most loyal of all my servants," Anna replied, setting down her fork. "And yes, she does appear to be ailing yet, doesn't she? I may have to enforce some rest upon her."

"Come join us in the library for a while, then," the Countess urged. "Lady Greene here has a new book of poetry, and Lord Birmingham has promised to come by and tell us a bit about his exploits in Africa. Your therapist will be able to get some rest."

Anna paused, thinking of how she had regretted making this decision so hastily just the day before. Then she said, "I thank you for the kind offer. I will discuss it with Miss Wolff and then give you my answer."

The elderly Countess looked only slightly affronted; that strange calculating look was once again on her face. "As you wish, my dear," she replied, before changing the topic of discussion at their table.

The luncheon finally ended, and Elsa drew near the table. She gave them all a curtsey, and then knelt by Anna's wheelchair. "My lady, have you made plans for the afternoon?"

Anna lifted a hand to her temple, allowing it to tremble. She looked at the assembled company and said, "Forgive me, but I feel tired and unwell. I had a strenuous morning, after all. I'm afraid I also need some rest. Perhaps I'll be able to join you for tea."

Every eye swivelled to the Countess, sitting there so imperiously in her chair, her cane next to her wrinkled and wizened hand. Looking at her as if her station meant something, meant that she could be the arbiter of their fates. What had their strange society come to? "But of course, my dear. Congratulations once again on walking this morning. Congratulations to you as well, Miss Wolff. You've taken very good care of your lady. It is to be commended."

"It is my pleasure to serve her, my lady Tregarren," Elsa responded. "Thank you for your regards. Lady Skaldenfoss, shall I take you in?"

"Yes, please, Miss Wolff." Elsa immediately began steering her away from the table, taking her unerringly towards the privacy of their home. There was another sharp uptick in whispers as they left, and Anna begged herself not to care or wonder at the content of those whispers.

The halls were familiar, their journey short. The moment the door to their little apartment was closed and locked behind them, Anna sighed. Elsa knelt at her side, saying, "Are you really ill, Anna? Did I push you too hard this morning?"

Her hand was on the armrest of Anna's wheelchair, so Anna covered it with her own. "I fibbed, Elsa," she said, now taking Elsa's hand and holding it. "Fess up, my dear. How much were you able to eat at lunch?"

Elsa nervously tucked a stray strand of silvery hair back behind her ear. "Not much, my lady. My appetite… seems to have been misplaced somewhere."

Anna ignored Elsa's attempt at levity and just looked at her; she saw a dolorous dark stain of exhaustion under Elsa's eyes. She could feel the frailty in the hand that she held so tenderly. "You need rest," Anna said.

Elsa softly exhaled. "Yes, I do."

"Would you sleep better in your own bed… or in mine?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not you'll be with me."

"Do you want me to be with you?"

Elsa's expression grew surprisingly stricken at Anna's simple question. "Anna. Considering the finite amount of time we will have with each other, I must admit… that I can scarcely bear to be apart from you. Luncheon today… was agony." Elsa turned her head away, her eyes glistening. "Am I diminished in your eyes?" she whispered. "You see my weakness, Anna. What kind of creature am I?"

Anna reached out a hand, to touch Elsa's chin and bring her gaze forward once more. "I see your strength, Elsa. I see you giving more than you possess. Despite your illness, you took me in the pool today, my dear. And. I _walked_. For the first time in nearly a year, I walked."

"It's not enough," Elsa breathed.

"What?"

"You must dance, Anna."

"Elsa. Stop this. I threw this foolish dream into the flames. Now it's your turn. Give it up. Renounce it. Elsa, I…," and Anna's eyes glistened with tears. She shifted in her wheelchair, her legs pricking with soreness and pain. "I cannot bear seeing you like this. I need you, Elsa. I need you well. Would you please stop holding yourself to some ridiculous standard that I don't even believe in?"

"Renounce it?" Elsa repeated. "Renounce your dream?" She looked dazed.

"Yes. Stop holding us hostage to your expectations," Anna chastised, her voice fiercer than she liked. "Can it not be enough? This moment, this achievement, can't you accept it for the wonder it is? Dear God, Elsa, did you learn nothing in the mountains?"

To her horror, Elsa stared at her for a moment before she ripped her hand from Anna's grasp, only to cover her face with both of her own. Her shoulders began to quake and tremble. She slumped there, on the floor next to Anna's wheelchair, and the sound of her sobs began to fill the air.

There were no words. Just aching, incomprehensible tears.

Those tears _tore_ at Anna Arendelle.

But she would not excuse them. She would not apologize for them. Elsa needed them. Elsa needed to realize a truth that still seemed to elude her, dancing in the air around her like a sleek candy fish, unable to grasp.

Anna's Latin lessons came back to her. Two words swum before her vision.

 _Amor fati_.

The love of one's fate. To change nothing, neither in the past nor in the future, for all was as it should be, just here, just now. Not to endure said fate or circumstances, but to celebrate it, to _love it._

So Anna would love even this fate, this awful moment with a sobbing lover before her, and expectations that cured and hardened in the air between them, and dreams that sighed before they had to die.

Elsa had to let this go. She had to accept what they had and stop aching for more.

The path of renunciation she once spoke of. It was this.

It was this.

It. Was. This.

Her heart quaking in sympathetic grief, Anna lifted the foot-plates of her chair and put her feet on the ground.

Then, putting all her trust and all her soul into the renewed vigour of her ankles and knees, Anna pivoted away from the chair, crouching on the floor next to Elsa. The strain on her knees was immense, but not intolerable. With a last oomph of effort, she fell on the floor and pushed the wheelchair away.

And then she pulled Elsa into her arms. She held her, as she had once held her own babes. Tears trickled down her cheeks to flow into Elsa's hair, untouched.

"Let it go, Elsa," she breathed. "Please let it go."

…

"Not even my Master could reduce me to rubble the way you do."

"Is that a compliment, Elsa?"

"Yes. When will I stop underestimating you, and your wisdom?"

"Interesting question. Why don't you sleep on it?"

They were in Anna's bed. It was just after luncheon. Elsa's wits were frayed beyond all reason. Pain licked her with the tongue of a dragon; she felt its fangs drag along her skin.

It felt like orange lightning.

She trembled in the sheets, sick and exhausted to her bones, and Anna clutched her even closer. She stroked Elsa's hair, caressed her shoulders, kissed her forehead, murmured soothing words. Beyond the shutters of this chamber the daylight world hurried on; it had no care for these two small souls desperate to understand each other and the two separate worlds they came from.

For this moment, they strayed between worlds. Waiting for the worlds to collide.

Elsa could not bear any of it, not now.

So she slept in Anna's arms, hoping that, when she woke, the world would be a better place.

…

So they slept. Then they woke, and dressed, and took a turn in the garden. Anna saw the little hillock where Elsa had taken her to watch the aurora. She saw the arbour where she had spilled her secrets of tulips. She also saw the Countess, and, when pressed, reluctantly agreed to have tea with her.

So she tore herself away from Elsa's quiet and subdued company long enough to take tea with the ladies in the library. Elsa promised to continue to rest and reflect during Anna's absence.

Anna was immensely glad to return a couple hours later. Her heart squeezed in vast affection to see Elsa curled on the couch under a blanket, her journal in her hands, a fire burning crisply before her.

Kate bobbed her head and left them, promising to bring dinner at eight. Elsa started to get up, but Anna waved her back down, using her hands to push the wheelchair close to the couch. "How do you fare, Elsa?"

"Well enough, honey. The pain is less, and I'm not so tired."

"You haven't coughed much today."

"Also a blessing. How was tea?"

"Entertaining and challenging both. That Countess really keeps me on my toes."

"She frightens me. I've not very comfortable around her. I feel… gauche."

"You wouldn't be the first to feel that way around her." Anna set her feet on the ground and pivoted so she could fall into the couch, just as Elsa had taught her to do. She shuffled close to Elsa, leaning into her. Elsa fluffed the blanket over Anna's lap as well and put her arm around Anna's shoulders. Anna snuggled close, and put her hand on Elsa's dress-covered thigh.

"And you, Anna?" Elsa asked. "How do you fare?"

"Well enough. I'll be honest, I'm aching and sore today. But it's a good sore. A sore to be proud of. I took my first steps today. I can still scarcely believe it. I walked, where I could only stand on my feet less than a week ago."

Under the blanket, Elsa reached out to hold Anna's knee. "Such good knees they are being, aren't they?"

"Astonishingly so."

"I'll give you a massage tonight, after dinner. You've earned it."

"Don't push yourself unnecessarily, Elsa."

"And face your wrath? God, no. But if I continue to feel as good as I do now, I should be capable." Elsa sighed and held Anna closer. "You've given me a lot to think about, my heart."

"And?"

"You really threw your own dream into the fire? The dream of dancing with your son on Christmas Eve?"

"Yes. The day you were so ill and given laudanum to sleep. The day I held you in your bed and discovered I had fallen in love with you. I told myself it would be foolish to hold either of us to an impossible ideal. Christmas is only twenty days away, and I can't even be upright without water."

"I'll give it up, Anna," Elsa whispered. "I'll let it go."

"Will you?"

"Yes. Because you're right. It was wonderful having you walk towards me today. It was amazing. You are amazing." Elsa ducked her head and kissed Anna's upturned lips.

"I have you to thank, Elsa. Everything I currently have has come to me across the palms of your hands. You saved my life. You returned my legs to me. And now you've given me love. Darling, I'm so grateful." Anna lifted one hand, to guide Elsa's lips back to her own.

They lapsed into silence then, close to each other, listening to the fire.

…

Two letters for Anna had been delivered to the apartment with Elsa's afternoon tea. Elsa, needing to stretch and use the bathing chamber, retrieved them for Anna to read. Elsa sat down again and pulled Anna's legs over her lap; Anna fluffed a pillow under her head and opened her letters to read while Elsa began to rub her feet and ankles.

The fire giggled and popped. Elsa's hands were soothing and cool on her feet and ankles. An immense sense of warm contentment encompassed every part of Anna's being. She knew that this intensity of affection could not last forever, that she and Elsa were still a bit drunk on the freshness of their relationship, so she vowed to enjoy every bit of it while she could.

No vows had been spoken, yet this felt like a truer honeymoon than that she had experienced with her late husband. Complete with solitude, privacy, and so much affection. It lacked only one thing; Anna tried to steer her mind away from dwelling upon the physical intimacy of love-making she so desired. She had faith that it would come, as soon as Elsa could gather enough courage to show Anna her scars. Anna hoped that Elsa's reticence was as simple as this.

She could not bear the thought of Elsa's hesitation being anything else.

So she read her first letter, a somewhat dry and stiff account of affairs at Iskall Slott from her son. She opened the second, which was from Lily, only to smile and chuckle and eventually sigh. "What is it, Anna?" Elsa asked.

"A letter from Lily. She and Helene have decided to do some Christmas shopping in London. They want to come up to Scarborough first, to see me and to get more clarity on my instructions. They are, after all, in charge of all my shopping this year."

"I see. And when will they be here?"

"They're on the ship to London even now. The post was slow. Today is December the fifth, they'll be here most likely on the afternoon of the eighth. They'll stay one night in Scarborough and return to London the next day."

Elsa's hands were moving up her leg, to fondle and rub Anna's aching knees. "How do you feel about them coming here?"

"Honestly? Like a bit of our bubble will burst upon their arrival." Anna sighed and set the letters down. "Though I am glad it will be my girls, and not my son."

"How much have you told them about your progress?"

"Very little. For all I've chastised you about lying, I'm doing quite a bit of it."

"You have a few days to decide, then. How much you want to share with your girls."

"And you and I will get some much-needed practice while they are here with us."

"Practice?"

"On how to behave in front of family. My girls are keen-eyed and fiery, Helene no less than Lily. They are insatiably curious about us, our rehabilitation, our routines. They are not strangers, who know nothing of us. They are _family_. So I suppose it's a good thing we will have to spend time with them here, before spending Christmas with all of them over there."

"I hope I won't betray you, Anna," Elsa said.

"My dear, I'm more afraid of betraying myself. I just… I can't look at you the same way anymore."

"Oh?"

"Look at me, Elsa."

Elsa halted her massage and looked. Her blue eyes were somewhat fuzzy with tiredness, but yet they shone with faith and devotion. Anna knew that same devotion was reflected in her eyes. Anna reached out her hand; Elsa took it, and Anna used the leverage to help herself sit up.

Then she held Elsa's soft worn cheek in her hand and said, "My eyes can hide many things, Elsa. With Hans, they learned to hide things well. This, what we share… I don't even want to hide it. But I must. We must."

"They understand friendship, don't they?" Elsa replied. "The need for companionship? We can show them that much, can we not? That we are lovers is none of their business. That we are kindred spirits, and friends of the heart, should come as no surprise. Not after all the time we have spent together."

"That's a very good point, my darling. They saw our blossoming friendship even before we came to Scarborough, especially when I finally decided to use your real name."

"How very greatly things have changed," Elsa mused, taking Anna's hand from her face so she could lift Anna's fingers to her lips and kiss each of them. "You called me Wolff at first, and you tried to push me away. You begged me to let you go, to let you be." Another kiss. "Even to let you die."

"And yet you stayed. But you cannot stay forever."

"Darling. I cannot."

"I know that. So kiss me now."

Elsa gave her a small wan smile, wrapped her cool fingers around Anna's neck, drew her mouth to her own and kissed her.

…

Night tumbled around them. Their sitting room was suffused with hues of red and orange from the fire. Doubt and worry and hope collected like errant dust in the corners of the room.

Anna sat in her wheelchair, holding her wine glass while Kate took the rest of the plates away, clearing the remains of their dinner. Elsa hadn't eaten enough. Again. And no amount of Anna's urging could entice Elsa to eat an extra mouthful. They both nodded at Kate as she wished them a good evening, and then they heard the final click in the lock as Kate departed. They would be undisturbed for the remainder of the night.

Pretences could be dropped. Right. Now.

"Well," Elsa breathed. She slumped a little in her chair at the table, and then reached out her hand. Anna took it and held it. "Day one is down. Definitely more difficult than I expected."

"Elaborate, my dear?"

Elsa swivelled her head on her lovely neck, that neck that Anna so desired, and looked right in Anna's eyes as she said, "Just what we spoke about earlier, Anna. Having to conceal my true feelings for you. Having to pretend… to prove to the world that we are something that we are not."

Anna thought back across her day, Elsa kicking her awake in the middle of the night, then waking and cuddling with Elsa in the dawning light. She thought of her triumphant walking in the pool in the morning and then cradling a sobbing Elsa on the floor before watching her sleep in the afternoon. She had been dismayed by the sharp corners she saw in Elsa's joints, alarmed by how thin her therapist had become.

So this was the true Elsa Wolff.

This was her lover.

This was her therapist.

This was her _now_.

Anna didn't truly understand any of it, but neither did she need to. Understanding could come in time. And time, they had. A little of it, at least, in this bubble called Scarborough. She only prayed their peace wouldn't burst entirely with the upcoming visit of her girls.

She set those thoughts aside. They were alone now, and an entire night stretched ahead of them.

What would they do with each other, now? What words would they speak, now that such welcoming and private darkness had come upon them?

Anna knew what she wanted. She wanted Elsa.

And all of Elsa. What Elsa had denied her the night before, Anna wanted more than ever.

"It was difficult for me as well," Anna admitted, stroking Elsa's hand with her thumb, hoping to start to kindle a fire inside her love. "I can't imagine how it's going to be with the girls here. Iskall Slott for Christmas… will be enormously difficult."

"That is true," Elsa replied. "Yet I must admit, I feel a weight has lifted. I didn't know the dream I had of you was that heavy, Anna. I'm… I'm glad I'm finally able to let it go. I promise you. I'll do the best I can for you, but I'll take care of myself as well. I… want to be well again."

"Good girl."

Elsa was looking at her. Her gaze was filled with fondness, with devotion, and still with such uncertainty. What was the source of this trepidation? Had it anything to do with the book she once spoke of, had it something to do with _lightning?_

Anna had considered herself brave, once.

But even she did not dare ask Elsa about the book she had referenced during the night of shivers. She dared not fracture the delicate peace that existed between them. This communion was far too precious to shatter.

For all her talk of releasing expectations, something _roared_ between them. Even here, even now, in the fire-kissed dark. Her heart was thrumming in anticipation and desire.

"It's early yet," Elsa began to say.

"Somewhat," Anna agreed. "Not quite nine o'clock."

Her words were superfluous, for the clock was on the mantle above the fire. Elsa had eyes, she could see it.

"My lady, my heart, I have an idea for whiling away our time before I take you in for a massage."

"Do tell."

"I would rather show." With that, Elsa rose from her place at the table. Two deliberate steps brought her to Anna's wheelchair. Where, just as the night before, she gathered Anna in her arms and lifted her.

Anna was in heaven; she held onto Elsa as Elsa carried her towards the couch.

"There was this motion picture I used to watch, honey," Elsa whispered, her voice nebulous and tentative. "Starring Rock Hudson and Doris Day. It was called 'Pillow Talk'. A silly romantic film, not much originality to speak of, but he held her once. He held the woman he loved on a couch, much like this one. And, oh, honey, every time I saw that scene I wondered… what it would be like to recreate it. I never could, with Cati. We had no couches to speak of, not there in the monastery. She never knew this desire of mine…"

Elsa had brought her to the couch; Anna's mind was sparking with static uncertainty; she barely understood what Elsa was saying. What about motion pictures? They were so foreign, so rare! Would any film have the story Elsa had just professed?

So Anna focused instead on the fact that she was in Elsa's arms.

Right where she belonged.

"Right now, thinking of that movie, I feel like a girl again," Elsa breathed. "And all I want to do is make out with you."

"Make out? What is that?"

Sigh. "Slang, honey. Bear with me. I'll show you."

A few minutes later, they were both seated on the couch. Elsa sat upright, legs on the floor, leaning against the back. And Anna was nearly on Elsa's lap; she sat right next to Elsa, and her legs were up on the couch as well, her obedient body making a V shape as she curled on the couch. Anticipation smouldered within her. What was Elsa going to do? What exactly was making out?

With just a little twist of her upper body, Anna could face Elsa; Elsa's hand was between her shoulder blades, helping to keep her upright. The posture was incredibly intimate; only a small sacred space separated them.

"Now what?" Anna asked, intrigued.

"Now? I kiss you." Elsa lowered her supporting hand, and Anna dipped in Elsa's arms even as Elsa's mouth descended possessively on hers. Anna lifted her hand to wrap around Elsa's neck and shoulder as Elsa's lips moved so hungrily against hers. She had to keep Elsa right there, for this wonderful position only highlighted a submission that Anna had rarely given to her late husband.

Just as Elsa had been so pleasantly submissive in Anna's bed last night, so Anna became docile and accepting. She allowed everything, from the thumb that rubbed between her shoulder blades as Elsa kissed her, to the tongue that swept across her lips before dipping so delightfully inside her mouth. Anna nearly swooned with the attention Elsa lavished upon her, how her mouth tilted as she kissed Anna from another angle. Again and again they kissed, lips latching desperately onto each other, breath tumbling, bodies aching with denial.

Breathless and tender with want, Anna finally broke the kiss in order to catch her breath. "Gods," she sighed, looking at Elsa through eyes half-lidded with desire and wonder.

"You like it?" Elsa breathed, continuing to cradle Anna in her arms, nearly upon her lap. Her hands were so tender, so soothing.

"I like it. I want it. I need it. Elsa, each kiss… it's like I'm rewriting my perception of who I really am… who we are together…" Her fingers were hot and lingering as she pulled Elsa's mouth down upon hers once more. Elsa kissed her, hard and passionate, before she suddenly pulled away, only to tilt Anna's head back so she could kiss Anna's neck.

To her surprise, Elsa softly bit her neck, and then laved the little bite with the tip of her tongue before leaning back and blowing some air on the sensitive spot. Anna's wits evaporated; she had never imagined such love-making could exist. She arched her back in pleasure, leaving Elsa even more access to the vulnerable skin of her neck.

So Elsa's mouth descended once more, to kiss and bite the other side of Anna's neck. "Oh, I shouldn't mark you," Elsa whispered as her lips ghosted along Anna's skin, "but I want to. I wish I could show the world that you are mine!"

Anna ran her fingernails along Elsa's sensitive neck and into her hair; she already knew how much Elsa loved this sort of touch. "I am yours," Anna breathed, "but the world can't know it. Elsa…"

"I'll be careful, I promise." Elsa shifted her hold on Anna's body, dipping her even further down, until Anna was nearly splayed across Elsa's lap. One tireless hand still supported Anna's neck and shoulders as Elsa continued to take the dominant role. Elsa leaned down to kiss Anna once more as her other hand slid up Anna's side, from her hip, along her waist, until it came to rest upon Anna's fabric-covered breast.

Anna writhed under the touch; she opened her mouth and Elsa's tongue darted inside, to make velvet contact with Anna's own.

Once again, Elsa touched the hard aroused nub of her breast, dragging her thumb across it. She circled it with her thumb, and then, to Anna's immense amazement, Elsa took it between her thumb and forefinger and rolled.

Heat and pressure radiated like a supernova throughout Anna's body, concentrated in her core. She arched her back, breaking their kiss, whimpering over her lips. She couldn't believe that Elsa could do this to her ageing body, that she could respond so thoroughly to Elsa's every move. "Elsa…" she moaned, eyes wide to the firelit chamber, their own little haven.

"Now, now," Elsa chastised. "You mustn't get excited, Lady Skaldenfoss." She released her hold on Anna's breast only to drag her fingers upward before grasping Anna's neck. "I need you relaxed and calm for your massage." She tilted Anna's neck, to kiss and then nibble Anna's earlobe. "I'm a good therapist, aren't I? I make you feel good?"

"You are an insufferable tease," Anna breathed, her voice rubble and ruin. "Elsa, I…"

"Come to me, baby," Elsa said, hearing something in Anna's voice that Anna could not hide. She lifted Anna back upward, and Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa's body, nestling into her, holding her tight.

How she trembled, how she soared! Hans had never created such sensation within her; Anna felt she could vibrate apart with the freshness of these emotions.

And just like that, Anna knew she wanted more. She wanted Elsa to be naked and welcoming in her bed. She wanted to discover every last inch of her beloved body. She wanted to make love to Elsa, even if she didn't exactly know how.

But she wanted something she could not have. The same reticence she had sensed in Elsa the night before somehow remained. What was within her lover? Was it only those scars, or something more? Why could she not speak?

Why could Anna not ask?

 _Renounce it, Anna. She has her renunciation._

 _You have yours._

 _And it is this._

So Anna held Elsa, and was embraced in return. Elsa's hands were soothing as she held Anna and made small movements with her thumbs. A few minutes later, after she had calmed herself, she whispered, "So this is making out?"

"Yes."

"And how about this?" Anna tried to lift herself, so she was actually sitting on Elsa's lap, but her obstinate knees had decided not to listen to her. She couldn't get purchase with her ankles, so she huffed and said, "Help me, Elsa. I want to be on your lap."

Elsa grasped Anna by her waist and with an oomph of exertion, she placed Anna on her lap.

Anna was now above her lover, looking down at the fire-dappled expanse of her. She leaned forward, pressing Elsa further back against the couch; Elsa willingly complied. Anna took her face and began to kiss her on her lips, their mouths moving more furiously against each other than ever before.

But then Anna decided to tease in return, and ripped her mouth away from Elsa so she could kiss her jawline, and then her throat. Elsa was quivering underneath her, vibrating at a celestial frequency. "Anna," she softly moaned.

"The night of the aurora, after your birthday ride," Anna whispered as she continued to lick and kiss Elsa's neck, "I stared at your neck and throat. Even then I knew I wanted you. I've been staring at your neck for months, Elsa. It confounded me, it was my personal riddle." Anna used her thumbs to rub the tense cords of Elsa's neck. "Perhaps I can finally solve it."

She kissed Elsa's throat, and then she kissed Elsa's lips, and then she held Elsa tight, her fingers in Elsa's hair, stroking her scalp just the way Elsa liked it.

"You've solved it, all right," Elsa breathed. "Anna… you make me feel something I've never felt before. Not with any of my previous partners. What magic do you have in those hands of yours?"

"I might just be another chapter in that book of yours, Elsa," Anna breathed. "But I'll be goddamned if I'll ever let you forget me."

Elsa held her apart and stared her in the eyes. "Anna, I…"

"Hush, Elsa."

"Yes, dear."

Anna grasped the nape of Elsa's neck with some force; the surprise of it caused Elsa's mouth to tumble open. Anna scraped her scalp with the tips of her fingers and heard Elsa's breathless, "What are you…?"

"I said hush."

Anna had never had a partner so willing, nor any reason to feel this possessive, this bold. Her fingers continued to grip Elsa's neck as she swooped down on Elsa's mouth, to kiss her lips, to nibble them, to breathe inside her. She leaned on Elsa and felt her lover quivering underneath her. Elsa's breath was rocky.

She stroked even higher on Elsa's head, loosening her already loose tresses as she kissed her way up to Elsa's ear. "We don't know anything about tomorrow," Anna whispered near the lobe of Elsa's ear. "But tonight, you're mine." Anna nipped Elsa's earlobe to emphasize her point.

Elsa gasped.

Anna immediately pulled away; this was no gasp of desire or arousal. It was a wretched, choked gasp filled with pain. Eyes wide, terror pulsing within her, Anna sat back to look right in Elsa's eyes. She saw Elsa's entire face go ashen, her blue eyes wide as oceans before they rolled back into Elsa's head.

Her entire frame slumped on the couch, and her hands immediately fell away from Anna's body as her eyes closed shut in a dead faint.

And for two of the longest seconds in Anna's life, Elsa didn't breathe. Didn't move.

Anna was about to thrash her way to the bell pull for Kate when Elsa managed to take a short, shuddering breath. For long seconds that ticked by like oil and tar, she simply laid there, collapsed over on the couch, barely breathing, barely moving. Each breath was shallow, broken, as if debris had collected in her throat, impeding all passage.

Anna sent all her concentration into her legs, begging them to support her as she awkwardly pushed herself off of Elsa's lap, hoping it would help Elsa catch her breath. Once she was beside Elsa, she took Elsa's wrist in her hand and felt the turbid flow of blood through her veins.

Her heart breaking with worry, she turned Elsa's face towards her and gently cried out, "Elsa, my darling. Come back to me. Come now, my dear."

Elsa's eyes merely fluttered; when they opened at all, they were distant and unfocused. She made no other sound, she did not move, even when Anna chafed her hand and called her name.

Again about to launch herself at the bell pull to summon someone, anyone, she watched as Elsa's eyes slowly quit their fluttering, and she began to focus on Anna. Her breathing grew a little deeper. Long moments passed before Elsa slumped into Anna's arms, and Anna held her. "Anna?" she whispered. Her entire body was nevertheless limp, and, when she lifted a hand to touch Anna's knee, it seemed as if that hand were as heavy as stone.

The relief at hearing her speak nearly caused Anna her own swoon. "I'm here, my darling. I've got you."

"I felt it coming," Elsa breathed, her voice so incredibly small. "The world went so grey. I wanted to warn you. I couldn't stop it."

"I can ring for the doctor," Anna said, relief tiptoeing past the bastions of anxiety in her heart.

"It's all right. It's passed, now." Elsa's head was on Anna's shoulder, so she looked up slightly to glance into Anna's eyes. "I just didn't expect you to literally take my breath away."

"Elsa. That was terrifying. Please, what is going on? Are you hiding something from me?"

"I've had some trouble breathing this last week," Elsa admitted. "I just… I couldn't get enough air for a moment. That's all."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"Don't be. What we were sharing… was magical. I just hope I didn't ruin this experience for you." She squeezed Anna's knee, her hand still so sombre, so heavy. She took another breath, even deeper this time, and colour began to return to her ash-grey cheeks. "I'm sorry I alarmed you."

"What do you need? Elsa, shall I call the doctor for you?"

"As much as I hate to say it, just sleep, Anna. I need to sleep. This has happened before. I'll be all right in the morning."

"You're not sleeping alone. I'm going to watch over you like a hawk."

"That sounds nice. I'm sorry I can't give you a massage."

"You're being a ninny again. You can stop that, too." Elsa didn't even laugh at Anna's vehemence, she just nestled into Anna's body.

More time passed. Anna began to wonder if Elsa had fallen asleep when Elsa sighed again, and promised that she felt well enough to get changed.

However, it seemed to take the last of Elsa's meagre strength to disappear behind the doors of her bedchamber long enough to change into her nightgown, and then to help Anna into hers. Elsa crawled into Anna's bed and snuggled with a thin sigh along the length of her, her head on Anna's shoulder, her hand on Anna's waist. They shared no more than a brief goodnight kiss before Elsa plummeted into sleep.

Leaving Anna to contemplate all the myriad wonders of this strange, confusing, triumphant day.

Surely in her personal path of renunciation, it was never assumed that she had to renounce her own personality, those traits that made her so singular and unique. She was the woman who had defied her husband's wishes, had created secret soup kitchens, had championed the rights of the poor, the widows, the indigent. Surely these were blessed characteristics, to be used wisely, but to be used!

So Anna vowed that, as soon as her girls came and went, she would have a serious discussion with Elsa. She would learn the truth about what really ailed her, the truth about words spoken about water, and books, and lightning.

As concerned as she was for every little lapse in Elsa's breath, it was a long time before the Dowager Baroness fell asleep, cradling her sick lover in her arms.

...

A/N: With a long Easter weekend and some absolutely beautiful weather in Prague, the Czech Republic, I used some of my time off to finish this chapter earlier than anticipated. Shaded gardens, birds singing, cool Moravian wine - a perfect combination for writing. I hope you enjoyed the result. -Jen


	23. Chapter 22 - Raisin

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

 **Raisin**

December 6, 1924.

Anna woke first to the steely frosty rays of dawn peeking through the slats of the window shutters. Her eyes immediately sought out Elsa, who had turned away from Anna during the course of the night and now slept on her side, facing the far wall. Only a heartbeat or two passed before Anna was able to detect the steady rise and fall of breath as Elsa continued to sleep. Relieved, Anna snuggled closer to her and put her hand on Elsa's hip before passing once more into a doze.

So it was she felt Elsa's awakening, and was easily roused from her snooze as Elsa began to stretch and shift about. Elsa soon turned around, a smile on her face as she saw that Anna was already awake. "Good morning," Elsa whispered.

"Good morning, darling," Anna replied. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a stone," Elsa admitted. "My god, I haven't slept through the entire night in… weeks. Maybe months. Oh, what a miracle, to wake so rested and well."

"I'm so glad to hear it," Anna replied, lifting her hand to touch Elsa's cheek and draw her close for a good-morning kiss.

They snuggled and cuddled together for a while longer before finally leaving the cocoon of Anna's bed to face the new day. Elsa stole into her own bedroom to muss the sheets, to make it appear to Kate that the bed had been slept in. She grimaced at the necessity of this subterfuge and hoped that Kate was neither curious nor gossipy.

After having their breakfast together, Elsa convinced Anna she felt well enough to guide her through a stretching session and some leg rehabilitation. She offered to take Anna into the pool, but Anna refused. Elsa's fainting spell of the night before was still on her mind; it was an experience she hoped never to repeat.

She enforced further rest on Elsa as the day continued to progress. After luncheon in the Great Hall, Elsa said she would have a nap on the couch; Anna stayed with her until she fell asleep, and then she went to the library to visit with the other ladies and inform them of the upcoming visit of her daughters-in-law. She knew that she would have to spend some time with them, especially the Countess Tregarren, while her girls were here, so she promised to bring her girls round for tea the day they arrived.

Anna returned to her quarters just before tea, and in time to sit and snuggle a warm and dozy Elsa on the couch. They took tea in their own apartment and then ventured out into the falling dusk to take a walk in the gardens. They didn't speak much as they strolled through the garden, nodding politely to those others who also walked there. But it was a most comfortable silence, a rich and nourishing quiet. They did not need words to communicate with each other, not anymore.

The cold air seemed to do wonders for Elsa; she was bright and chipper when they finally returned to their apartment. The walk seemed to invigorate her appetite as well; when dinner came, Elsa ate her entire portion for the first time since she had fallen ill nearly a week ago. Anna felt a little part of the tension behind her heart ease; she had been so incredibly worried about Elsa's welfare!

After dinner, they played various card games; Elsa rallied her wits together and managed to beat Anna twice out of six games. She laughed often, and with such incredible colour; Anna hoped it meant that she was truly climbing out of this last terrible bout of illness.

Then they retired once more to the couch, to sit comfortably with each other in front of the warm flames of the fire in the hearth, to speak of small and beautiful things. Talking led inevitably to kissing; Anna showed what she later believed was a great deal of restraint as she curbed her acute hunger and desire for Elsa. Her lover already seemed much improved over the day before, but Anna wasn't going to take any chances.

An idea had been steadily bubbling inside her all day, and, as the evening drew to its inevitable close, Anna finally acted upon it. Just as they were about to turn in for the evening, Anna asked, "Could you help me stand up, Elsa? I want to see if I can." Anna could stand easily enough in the water by now, and she was curious to see if her ankles and knees could withstand the pressure of standing normally.

Elsa rose from the couch and stood before Anna, her hands open and beckoning, a soft smile on her lips. Anna took those hard-working and beautiful hands and Elsa helped lift her up, up on her feet.

Her knees immediately wanted to buckle and her lower back cramped up; Anna shot a pleading glance at Elsa and then she found herself gathered in a strong and tight embrace. Elsa's arms went tightly about her, and then Elsa _lifted_ her, just a millimetre or two, enough to take that pressure from her knees and lower back.

And, as simply as that, Anna was standing. Her heart pounding with triumph and satisfaction, Anna held onto her lover in a most glorious state of vertical. Gods, she hadn't been entirely vertical like this in nearly a year; the decadence of it filled her soul with radiant joy. All these people milling about the resort, people who walked and worked and carried on their every-day lives not knowing the miracle of having two obedient and conscious legs, not realizing the glory of being able to command those said legs with only a passing thought.

"Sweetheart?" Elsa whispered into Anna's ear as the seconds ticked by. Anna was trembling with the strain, but she would not stop. Not yet.

For Elsa's hands were upon her, her fingers splayed wide as she absorbed Anna's effort. Those fingers held immense mountains of devotion and affection; silent were these mountains, but that could not lessen their glory, their absolute _presence_.

Anna answered by lifting her head and tilting her neck; with a single smoky look she begged Elsa to kiss her.

And Elsa did.

Elsa and Anna stood locked in an embrace before the bright flickering flames of the fire, their lips hungrily grasping each other, moving, tilting, sighing, breathing.

Then Anna put her hands in Elsa's hair and whispered, "Help me down."

Elsa carefully lowered her back down onto the couch, and then took her own seat by Anna's side.

Her eyes were gleaming as she touched Anna's cheek and whispered, "My god, I love you."

…

December 7.

Once again, Elsa slept through the night in Anna's bed, in Anna's arms, waking with energy and vigour like that she had possessed before falling ill. It was easier to convince Anna that she felt well enough to take her into the pool in the morning. Once there, she led Anna through her now-familiar routine, though it also included walking to and fro in the water. The shallower the water, the harder it got, though Elsa was careful not to press either of them too hard. They spent quite a bit of time following the rehabilitation in the cave with the hot spring, which helped loosen Anna's muscles. Still, her legs and back were not accustomed to this sort of work, so, directly after luncheon in the Great Hall, Elsa took her into the bathing chamber and gave her a devotedly long massage.

It was the first full massage Elsa had been able to give Anna since falling ill, and since they had professed of their love for each other. Elsa put Anna on the massage table and Anna wondered if Elsa would take advantage of her position; oh, she wanted Elsa's hands on her, loving her, worshipping her! Yet Elsa stayed heart-breakingly professional as she gave Anna the massage; it felt wonderful, it soothed the aches in her legs and back, yet there was no love-making in it. Oh, Anna wanted love-making, why was Elsa being so hesitant?

Perhaps it was a good thing to wait at least a couple days more. If they loved each other now, it would be even more difficult to hide their true feelings for each other in the face of visiting family. So Anna thought, and hoped it was excuse enough for her.

After the massage was finished, they both decided to climb into Anna's bed for a short afternoon nap. Elsa fell asleep quite quickly, though Anna only dozed. She felt restless and confused. She thought of the upcoming visit, of the possibility of their relationship being found out, and what consequences might arise. She told herself to stop thinking this way, that her worrying about it wouldn't change anything, but then she looked at the slender beautiful woman who shared her bed and worried some more.

Elsa woke again two hours later. All soft and drowsy, she spooned into Anna, crooked their legs together, and wrapped her arm around Anna to cup and hold Anna's breast. Anna sighed with pleasure, and felt Elsa kiss her shoulder before nuzzling close to her. "Oh, what comfort this gives me," Elsa breathed. Anna felt so magnificent; that she could provide such comfort to the woman she loved.

Once again they eventually rose and dressed, this time so Anna could take tea with the ladies in the library. After tea, she returned to the lounge and Elsa guided her through some stretching before taking her out into the garden for a walk. When they returned, Anna asked Elsa to help her practice standing and sitting. It might have looked comical to an outsider, to see her rise from her wheelchair to stand on her feet only to sit down again, but it was deadly serious for the Dowager Baroness.

The smallest coal of hope remained inside her, that she could somehow dance with her son on Christmas Eve.

After five or six such repetitions, Anna stood once more, holding Elsa's hands and then she softly commanded, "Step back just a little, Elsa, please." Elsa lifted an eyebrow, yet instantly obeyed, shuffling back just a little.

The gap was intolerable, just as Anna hoped it would be. Her heart surging with a tide of yearning, Anna wrapped herself in the memory of water, lifted her foot, and stepped forward. Her first step on dry ground; she felt the glory of it, the purpose of it, and recognized the death knell that rung in her heart because of it, for with every step she took she hastened Elsa's departure from her life.

So she took one shuffling step, and then two, allowing the maelstrom of emotion within her to rage unabated.

Then her knees buckled, but Elsa swooped towards her, to embrace her and hold her close, kissing her forehead, kissing her cheek, kissing her mouth. "My audacious girl," she murmured. "There is no stopping you now."

"No, there is no stopping me," Anna mused. "And yet it is bittersweet, Elsa."

"Why, my dear?"

"Because every step I take is one step closer to you leaving me."

Elsa had no response to that, other than continuing to hold Anna close before kissing her, softly, deeply, lovingly on the lips.

Kate came with their dinner and a telegram at 8 o'clock. Anna opened the telegram and sighed. The girls had arrived safely in London, and would take the earliest morning train to Scarborough. They expected to arrive at the resort no later than 2 pm on the morrow. "Have you finalized your plans for their visit?" Elsa asked as they both began to tuck into the meal. Anna was relieved to see Elsa eat with some gusto; her appetite had truly returned.

"I think so. I'm afraid I won't be with you much after their arrival, Elsa."

"I expected as much. Though, I'll be honest, this is just the sort of situation I dreaded after admitting I was in love with you. I wish I could be with you for these situations, to share them with you. As a true partner could." There was no denying the wistfulness in her words.

"I've already decided that we will have dinner here together, Elsa," Anna said, a little lead ball of dismay in her heart to hear Elsa speak so frankly. "I'll ask the girls to take me into town for some shopping, and then we'll have tea with the Countess and the other ladies. Leaving dinner for the four of us, here, in our chambers."

Elsa brightened a little. "I'd like that," she said. "Perhaps I should take this opportunity to do some shopping of my own. It's nearly Christmas, after all."

"You're not seriously thinking of buying something for me, are you?"

"And what if I am? Can't a girl buy something for her sweetheart?"

"Have you forgotten what you've already given me? Elsa, I don't need anything more."

Elsa looked surprised until Anna kicked her solidly in the shin under the table. Elsa yelped a little even as she grinned and rubbed her leg where Anna struck her. "Can a price even be put on the gifts you've already given me?" Anna continued. "Life. Legs. Love. Elsa, if I asked you not to buy anything for me, would you obey me?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Besides, there is only one gift you can give me, and you cannot find it in a shop."

"Oh?"

Anna reached out to pluck the fork from Elsa's hand and she set it down on the table. And then she stroked the inside of Elsa's wrist with her fingertips before lifting that wrist to her mouth, there to suckle it and kiss it. "There is only one thing I want from you," Anna whispered, her voice husky with longing. "I'm trying to understand your hesitation." She kissed further up Elsa's arm, and then the crook of Elsa's elbow. Elsa's breath was becoming a little short.

Even that was warning enough for Anna, who wouldn't do anything to precipitate another fainting spell. She reluctantly kissed Elsa's arm one last time and then sat back in her chair to take her utensils in her hands. "I'll be ready, whenever you are," Anna said.

Elsa licked her lips; her eyes were hooded and smoky. "And I'm nearly ready. After the visit, Anna, I promise you."

"I'll hold you to that. I'd hold you to even more, if I could."

"Dearest, I know."

…

Anna and Elsa had a lazy lie-in on the morning of December 8, cuddling each other and speaking of the upcoming visit. Eventually they left the comfort of Anna's bed in order to have one last training session in the pool; Anna was able to walk further and longer than ever before. "You really are amazing," Elsa whispered as she held Anna's hands in the deep end of the pool following another lap back and forth. Anna felt a familiar surge of affection and wished she could kiss Elsa; she contented herself with squeezing Elsa's hands. She was tired when the training was finished, but it was that triumphant tired that Anna had come to adore. They snuggled together on the couch for the half hour before luncheon.

At luncheon that day, which they took in the Great Hall, Anna impressed upon her peers a certain level of silence regarding her rehabilitation. She told them of her desire to surprise her family on Christmas Eve, and that she would appreciate their keeping her progress a secret. All of them seemed quite delighted by the intrigue and promised to aid Anna in her hopefully harmless deception.

Full of energy and anxious for the sight of her girls, Anna decided that she would greet them at the station instead of waiting for them to come to the resort. Elsa quickly agreed, and made sure Anna was warmly dressed with hat and gloves in time for them all to get into the resort car and go to the train station.

The driver got them to the train station a few minutes before the train's scheduled arrival. Elsa lifted Anna into her wheelchair, tucked a blanket over her legs, and then wheeled her onto the platform. Anna wished she could reach out and hold Elsa's hand while they waited for the train. For as much as Elsa desired true partnership, so did Anna; it was something she hadn't experienced with Hans.

"Elsa?" she softly called out a moment later.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Could you look at me, please?"

Elsa came out from behind the wheelchair and crouched. Her face was filled with concern. "What is it, honey?" she quietly asked.

The station was bustling and busy, but Anna created a moment of stillness and focus as she looked at Elsa. She said, very softly, but very deliberately, "I love you, Elsa."

Elsa smiled. "I love you, too, sweetheart."

Elsa rose again, and touched Anna's shoulder, and they waited for the train to come in. Soon they could hear it approaching; shrill whistles came from the engine. Anna shivered with memory as she felt the rumble under the earth of the locomotive's approach. Elsa continued to hold her shoulder, only releasing her when the train had chugged its way to a full stop and began to expel passengers.

And there they were.

There was a great squeeze of Anna's heart as she beheld her daughters-in-law; they spied her sitting there waiting for them and Lily waved with exuberance. They were ladies, they would not run, but they most definitely rushed to Anna. Lily unceremoniously dropped her bag on the ground as she leaned down to give Anna a big hug and a kiss. "Oh, my dear Anna, how wonderful it is to see you!" Lily cried as she hugged Anna.

Joy filled Anna's eyes with tears as she embraced Lily in return. Then it was Helene's turn to hug her, and whisper in her ear how they had all missed her. "Oh, I've missed you too, my darlings," Anna replied.

Lily extended her hand to Elsa, and Elsa shook it with a smile. "It's nice to see you as well, Miss Wolff. Though, forgive my impertinence, but you look rather peaky. Are you well?"

"I've been a little under the weather," Elsa replied. "But I'm on the mend now. We're both so glad you are here."

Inwardly Anna harrumphed with the extent of Elsa's lie. A little under the weather? There had been nothing little about it. Her face must have betrayed something, for Helene had straightened and was now looking at her with a bit of question in her eyes.

They all began chattering away as Elsa pushed her back towards the waiting car and driver. They both asked many questions as they drove to the resort; Anna finally laughed and held up her gloved hand. "My girls, patience! We have all day to talk."

"What of your legs, Anna?" Lily asked. "How goes the rehabilitation?"

"Some progress has been made," Anna easily replied. "My nerves have either regenerated or have been reconnected somehow, for now I can feel everything upon my legs and feet." She touched her knee and squeezed it. "I can feel that, my girls."

"That's wonderful, Anna," Lily replied. "And what about moving your legs?"

"That will come, my dear," Anna replied with a laugh. "It is inevitable at this point. All thanks to Elsa." Anna beamed at Elsa, who was sitting in the front with the driver.

"Indeed, congratulations, Miss Wolff. You seem to be doing wonders for Anna," Lily said.

"Thank you, my lady," Elsa replied, turning to look back at all of them. "I must admit, this has been an adventure for both of us. Serving Lady Skaldenfoss has given me some of the greatest joy of my life."

…

The afternoon with her girls passed like a whirlwind. Anna and Elsa showed them around the resort, and then the three of them left to go to town for their shopping. Elsa stayed behind, saying that she would have a short rest.

While Scarborough couldn't match London in terms of variety, they still enjoyed going from shop to shop, especially as the cool grey sky sent down little flakes of soft, swirling snow. Anna asked for stories about the grandchildren, and the household, and told her own stories about her time at the resort. Lily was insatiably curious about Elsa's techniques of rehabilitation.

They ended up in a jewellery shop; Helene wanted to find some new earrings for Claire. Anna perused the other offerings while Lily and Helene chatted with the shop-owner. There was a small tray of rings; one in particular grabbed Anna's attention. It was made of silver, with a single band that diverged into two lines, which then crisscrossed each other in a compelling, fluid design before merging once more.

She had to have it. For Elsa.

Anna dickered a little with the shop-owner for the ring, and felt quite triumphant when it was packed into a little velvet box for her to take. "It really is beautiful, Anna," Lily said as they left the shop, Helene tucking her own purchase into her purse. "Who is it for?"

"For Elsa," Anna replied.

"You've become quite close, haven't you?" Helene asked as they began to walk down the street, nodding at the other shoppers and townsfolk.

"Yes, we really have. In fact, she has become my dearest friend and companion. She means the world to me." Anna wanted to tell the truth, but also tried to keep her voice clear of the throbbing emotion she felt for her nurse.

"Will she not leave you, someday, when you are healed?"

"Yes."

"How does it feel, then, to know that you will inevitably be separated?" Helene continued, her voice quiet yet curious.

"It hurts. Immensely. But I will not grieve yet for a future that has not occurred. Even though I know it must. I will enjoy her company now, and not mourn her loss. Not yet, at least."

Lily had a contemplative frown on her face as they walked along. "That's a very wise thought, Anna. You should share it with Johan. He seems to worry a lot over a multitude of futures that have not yet occurred."

"Elsa has taught me a great deal. About living in the present moment, in whatever form this moment has. Joy. Pain. Frustration. Companionship. To notice whatever we are experiencing just now. Doesn't the cold air feel wonderful, my girls? Isn't the snow beautiful?"

Helene paused in pushing the wheelchair. She came to Anna's side and lifted her hand to catch a few of the lazily drifting snowflakes.

"Yes," Helene said, looking back at Anna with a smile. "Yes, it is. Yet to be with you again, ma mère, brings the most joy of all."

…

They were all apple-cheeked and rosy when they returned to the resort a couple hours later. They opened the door only to find Elsa napping on the couch; even though they tried to be quiet, Elsa quickly woke. She seemed flustered and embarrassed to be caught sleeping, though Anna was glad Elsa had gotten more rest. Elsa got up to greet them, and to assist them all with disrobing and stowing away their purchases.

They couldn't stay with Elsa for very long; only twenty minutes later Anna and the girls went to the library for tea with the Countess Tregarren, and the other lords and ladies. The tea was lively and interesting, and her peers held up their side of the bargain as none of them gave away Anna's secret progress. They decided to conclude the tea with a turn through the garden. Elsa was summoned, so she came to steer Anna along the paths through the falling dusk, as had become their custom.

After the walk, the girls rested in the lounge while Elsa took Anna into the bathing chamber for a short treatment before dinner. The moment the door was closed and they were alone once more, Anna slumped in her chair and sighed. "How are you feeling, my dear?" Elsa quietly asked as she knelt down by Anna's side. She took Anna's hand, curling her fingers around it before touching Anna's face with her other hand, stroking and then cupping Anna's cheek.

Anna turned into that cupped hand, and then she leaned forward, her intent unmistakeable. Elsa offered her lips, and Anna kissed them, slowly and thoroughly and very quietly, her fingers upon Elsa's neck. "My god, Anna," Elsa shakily whispered a moment later. "What you do to me." She smiled as she then took Anna's hand, and kissed each of her fingertips.

"I'm all right now," Anna said, finally answering Elsa's question. "And you, my darling? How are you?"

"Quite good, to be honest. My nap was refreshing." Just then her stomach growled, and Elsa grinned. "My appetite has definitely returned. A day or two more, and I'll be right as rain."

"I'm so glad to hear it," Anna replied, before giving Elsa another quick peck on the lips. Elsa then helped her stand, and she disrobed down to her shift and drawers. Then Elsa eased off her shift as well, and put her facedown on the massage table. She oiled her hands and began to work; Anna knew they didn't have time for a full massage, so she directed Elsa's attention to her pelvis and then her neck and shoulders.

Even this was tormenting, having Elsa's heated hands upon her yet knowing that her daughters-in-law were waiting for her in the other room. Oh, why couldn't she just have what she wanted?

As Elsa worked on her, Anna examined her wanting. And she unearthed the desire that had been building in her for the last few days.

She would throw her title aside, if she could. She would no longer be a Dowager Baroness of Norway. Anna Arendelle would be a simple woman, and she would live in a little cottage, if she could, with the woman who brought such joy and light to her life. No duties. No responsibility, other than that given to a kindred spirit. Anna would give everything up for Elsa, if only she could.

But such things were beyond her. Titles, and family, could not be cast aside.

Anna knew she was searching for any possible way to keep Elsa Wolff in her life. This love she had discovered was so fulfilling, so authentic, that Anna would do almost anything at this point to maintain it.

Even if, deep down, she knew it was futile.

It would come to an end.

Just like this massage.

…

Dinner in their apartment with Elsa and the girls was a tremendously merry affair. They banished the offered footman and ate on their own, pouring their own refills of the two dinner wines that had accompanied the meal. Anna was greatly pleased to see Elsa tuck into her meal; she smiled often and joined the dinner conversation from time to time, adding a tidbit or anecdote that seemed to delight Lily and Helene. Lily even dug a few gems out of her that Anna had not yet heard, such as Elsa's tale of a surprise encounter with a yak that left them all with tears of laughter.

"My goodness, when we are all back in Iskall Slott, you shall be invited to table more often, Miss Wolff," Lily said as she wiped her eyes with her napkin. "Anna, now I understand why you've been keeping this treasure to yourself."

"As I said before, please call me Elsa," Elsa said. "Believe me, it's easy enough speaking here within a small company, but I'd be afraid of acting the fool in front of strangers."

"It took me some time to get used to this type of conversation," Helene admitted. "But if a farmer's daughter can learn, in a foreign language no less, than so can you."

Anna saw Elsa's expression change. She wondered if Elsa was thinking of Catriona, and Helene's parents in Pomacle. For that matter, Helene still didn't know about Elsa's connection to Leif. Anna and Elsa looked at each other with sudden sobriety.

"What is it?" Helene unexpectedly asked. "Why do you look at each other this way?"

"Should I?" Elsa whispered.

"As you wish. You know best."

Both young women were now glancing between Anna and Elsa, confused. "I have another story to tell," Elsa said, choosing her words carefully. "About my connection to Leif Arendelle."

"What?" Lily breathed. She stared at Helene, who had gone quite still in her chair.

The story did not come easily or fluidly from Elsa's mouth. Yet in fits and starts, the tale emerged, of how Elsa and Leif had served in the same camp, and how the two of them met each other late one night in her hospital tent. Leif had shown her pictures, and told her stories, and Elsa, exhausted, had been glad to sit and listen.

Words continued to trip and tumble from Elsa's mouth, and Anna dearly wished she could reach over and hold Elsa's hand. Familiar pain grew in her own heart as the story was told, of Leif being discharged from her hospital only to be caught in the Spring Offensive. How Elsa was there to assist in the amputation of his legs.

And then.

Their faces were rapt as they listened to Elsa, and she said, "And I forged the doctor's signature. I signed Leif on for evacuation all the way home to Iskall Slott. The trucks took him away, and I never knew, not for six long years, what became of him. I only knew I had to get him out. I had to get him home. No matter the cost."

Helene was silently weeping, lifting her napkin to touch the tears from her cheeks. She suddenly rose from her chair and knelt at Elsa's side. "Merci," she whispered, taking Elsa's face in her hands before solemnly kissing each of Elsa's cheeks. "Oh, merci."

Elsa smiled, and reached out to touch Helene's face. "Ma cherie, je vous en prie. You are so very welcome. I only wish I could have done more."

Helene scrambled back to her seat, and sat down again in her chair.

"Wait," Lily said. "You forged a signature. You sent Leif home."

"Yes."

"Were you found out? Did they catch you?"

"… yes."

Anna couldn't bear to think of this part again; she partially closed her eyes and turned her head, her heart breaking in sorrow. Of course her sharp Lily had thought of this, even when Anna herself hadn't at the time.

And that was her undoing.

"What, Anna? What is it?" Lily asked.

"Tell them, Elsa," Anna said, her voice broken, her eyes open again and gleaming. "Tell them the consequences of your kindness."

Elsa's eyes were stricken, and in them she saw Elsa begging for something that Anna could not give her. Not now, in front of her girls.

So Elsa turned to face them, and she said, "I was arrested. The Spring Offensive continued. We began to evacuate, but because of my arrest, I couldn't leave until the very end. But we couldn't evacuate quickly enough. Shells struck our camp. I… I was injured."

She paused then, as if those words could possibly convey enough.

No, they couldn't.

"Don't mislead them," Anna chastised. She turned and looked at her girls. "A shell struck her tent. Elsa broke her leg. Her back was burned. They were forced to remove her kidney due to shrapnel. Because of what she did for Leif, she would never be the same again." Her voice thick and choked in her throat, she continued, "And even now she suffers because of it. That long-ago decision. That ancient kindness. It takes its toll, even now. Look at her. Do you see?"

Silence, then, fraught with memory. The fire crackled in the grate while winter wind scoured the outside of the building.

"Yes, I see Miss Wolff. But I must admit, I couldn't see further than my loss, my devastation, those years ago," Helene quietly said a few moments later. "The young man I fell in love with, who I risked everything for, whose unborn child I bore, it was agony to watch him sicken. To watch him die. Our precious future died along with him. But now I understand. Elsa Wolff, you brought him home to me. Can I ever repay you for what you did?"

"Yes," Elsa replied, somewhat unexpectedly. "Love fiercely. Dare greatly. Live boldly. And teach your daughter likewise. If you must repay my kindness, then you will pay it forward. Not back to me, but onward to someone else."

"Would you start a revolution, then, Miss Wolff?" Lily asked. "Most people cannot abide such kindness. It is… too humbling for them. Not to say too difficult."

"Maybe I would," Elsa replied. "For your world needs kindness and understanding more than anything. Or else your world will fail."

In the strange silence that then dropped upon the table like a droplet of honey, Anna thought of the words Elsa had chosen.

 _Your world? Don't you mean… our world?_

Helene dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. Lily had her head tilted, and she was looking at Elsa quite intently. Suddenly she asked, "Do you believe in fate, Elsa?"

"Of a fashion, yes. Why?"

"Because all of this cannot be a coincidence. How you met Leif during the war. How you are helping Anna now."

Anna thought of Elsa falling on boulders in India, of how Catriona saved the life of Helene's father, and knew that the universe had been spinning she and Elsa together for more decades than she could imagine.

And yet the universe would also rip them apart.

For that seemed to be their fate. Just like Helene and Leif, she and Elsa would be together for a time. And then, they would not.

"Indeed, Lady Lily, some things transcend fate. Some things are truly meant to be." Elsa looked at Anna, her eyes shining. The deepest of smiles appeared on her face, and Anna felt the glory of it embed acutely in her heart.

Helene, for once, was oblivious to this gaze, so caught up in her own suffering was she.

Yet Lily saw it. And Lily wondered.

…

Following Elsa's admission, the talk then tilted towards nostalgic stories of life since the war; even Elsa had one glass of wine and shared other stories about life in India. The hours lurched towards midnight yet Anna did not want this to end; she remembered how little time she had been able to spend with these ladies earlier this year. Elsa finally yawned and excused herself, wishing them all a pleasant sleep. Anna tried not to watch Elsa walk away, but she couldn't help at least one soft glance as Elsa disappeared behind her bedroom door.

It was just shy of midnight when her girls finally decided to leave; they rang for the driver and then pulled on their winter clothes for the drive to their hotel in town. This was the last Anna would see of them before Christmas; they were returning to London on the early morning train.

Her heart was full of gladness and thanksgiving as she hugged them one last time. "You can't believe how wonderful it is to see you so well," Lily said. "Oh, Anna, I once thought we had lost you for good."

"You very nearly did," Anna said. "Miss Wolff was the miracle I needed."

"She was the miracle we all needed," Helene said. "I can still barely believe how connected she is to our family. To come to us when we so needed her… May I ask, Anna, do you really believe you will walk again?"

"Yes," Anna replied, a knowing smile on her lips.

"You better take care of her too, then," Helene replied. "She really does not look well."

"She is much better than only a few days ago."

"If you say so. Our eyes are fresh, Anna. She has lost weight she can't exactly afford to lose. Even her skin seems different than before," Helene continued, with Lily nodding next to her.

"I'll watch out for her, I promise. I care for her, deeply."

"I can tell." Helene leaned down to kiss Anna's cheeks one last time. "Au revoir, ma mère."

"Au revoir, Helene. Goodbye, Lily. See you in two weeks."

Lily blew her a kiss before she left, and the door shut behind them. Anna wheeled up to the door to lock it, and then she ensured the fire would safely burn down to ashes. With all the lights off and the lightest glow emanating from the fire, she went into her bedroom and struggled quite comically for a while in taking off her dress and pulling on a warm nightgown. They hadn't rung for Kate in hours, which meant that there was no fire in her room, and the air was cold.

She looked at her bed in distaste. There was no way she was going to sleep alone. Not when their nights together were numbered.

Shivering with cold, Anna wheeled herself out of her room and to Elsa's. She opened it a crack and noticed that the fire was glowing, the air was warmer, and Elsa slept on her side facing the doorway. As she had discovered the night of Elsa's great shiver, Elsa's bed was narrower than Anna's, but there would still be room enough for her.

So Anna wheeled closer. She reached out to touch Elsa's arm, and saw her lover sleepily open her eyes. "You came," Elsa said muzzily. "Oh, I hoped you would come."

"Is there room for me?" Anna asked.

"In my bed. In my heart. In my life. Now and forever," Elsa murmured as she shuffled backwards in the bed, clearing a space for Anna. "Do you need help climbing in?"

"I can manage," Anna replied, her heart squeezing to hear Elsa's words. She flopped a little with her own exhaustion, but managed to climb into Elsa's bed. Elsa waited for her, her eyes already closing again with tiredness. Yet Elsa reached for her as soon as Anna had settled herself.

The bed was warm, and so was Elsa, and Anna quickly stopped shivering as Elsa wrapped her arms around her and held her close. "Oh, my dear one, my Anna," Elsa murmured as she nuzzled into Anna's shoulder. "I'm so glad you're here. Oh, I want you here."

Anna gladly snuggled into Elsa's body, thinking of what her girls had said. It was true that, when her hands held onto Elsa's hip, it was sharper and bonier than it had ever been. When she had met Elsa those months ago, she had both admired and despised Elsa's beautiful curves. Those curves had been eroded by Elsa's illness. But surely they would return, given time and renewed appetite.

Anna didn't realize she had sighed until Elsa asked, "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I'd rather take a kiss."

Elsa's face was gauzy with darkness, yet her smile was apparent. She closed the sacred space between them and covered Anna's mouth with her own. Her lips were so warm, so tender yet so insistent. Her hand cupped Anna's breast as she kissed her, and Anna's heart was knifed yet again with sorrow she swore she would not borrow from her future despair.

 _Let the now be enough_ , she told herself as she kissed Elsa in return.

When the kiss ended, Elsa said, "Now. Speak, my dear."

"They are worried about you. They said that you look different. You've lost weight you can't afford to lose. Your skin is different. I've been with you for months, Elsa. I've seen some of this, but not all of it. My eyes, they aren't new enough."

Anna burrowed into Elsa's body and felt Elsa clutch her even closer in return. "Do not fret, Anna," Elsa whispered in Anna's hair. "I'm feeling better each and every day. Everything will be all right."

"I hope so. Oh, Elsa, we've been living in such a precious bubble. But Christmas will be here before we can blink twice. Sometimes… sometimes I can't imagine going back to Iskall Slott. I'm not the same woman I was six weeks ago. When I see my son again, will he see me for who I am, or will he only see what he wants to see?"

"That's a good question, Anna," Elsa replied, her voice still fuzzy. "It is hard to remove old expectations from our eyes. Ask yourself, will you be able to look at your son and see him for who he is, and not as a reflection of your thoughts about him?"

"I hope so. He… he has so much Hans in him. I must admit, sometimes when I look at Johan, I see only a younger, blurry version of my late husband."

"This is a good opportunity for us, then, to go back and see anew. My Master taught me something about this, honey. He called it 'beginner's mind'. Tell me, my dear, when your children were small, did they ever experience something so ordinary and mundane with a sense of childlike wonder? Did they teach you about freshness?"

"Yes," Anna replied, without having to think. "Leif and his thunderstorms."

"Go on."

"He grew up loving them. But there was one in particular I remember. He would have been fifteen, I think. This was 1912, before we could even imagine war. It was late for a storm, out of season. October, perhaps. He was home from boarding school for a while, because he had been suspended for fighting another classmate. He had been quick to reassure me that he had only acted in the defense of a smaller, younger student, but the Headmaster hadn't cared about the reasons for the fight. So he was home for two weeks in the middle of the autumn. I was angry with him for fighting, but then I was just so glad to have him home for a while.

"Late one afternoon, we saw an unusual storm piling up over the strait. It was immense. As it neared, it seemed to swallow the sun. He pulled me out of the house and into the gardens, where we could have a better view to the north.

"I had seen many storms over the years, and so had he. He had been born a storm-lover, and would watch them every chance he got. But he still faced this one with such joy, such wonder. We watched the lightning strike the sea, we heard the thunder booming and crashing around us, and then we even stood there in the pelting rain. I wanted to go back in, but he wouldn't let me. He asked me to look, look at the strange colour of the lightning. He asked me to taste the rain on my tongue. To feel it on my skin. His wonder transformed this simple storm into something magnificent and new.

"But then he said something strange, Elsa. He said that lightning was of the gods. Lightning comes to those who need it. He looked at that lightning and said that it was meant for us. It would hit our towers. It would… it would dissolve our structures."

Anna could feel Elsa's interest, how she wrangled her senses in order to hear and understand Anna's words. "So young and yet so wise, " Elsa mused. "But what did he mean about strange colour?"

"I couldn't see it the way he did. For him, the lightning was… did he say orange?" Anna chuckled. "I told him to stop being such a romantic."

Elsa had gone quite still, but Anna scarcely noticed, so caught up in memory was she.

"He was rapt, Elsa. And his wonder and fascination infected me as well, and I began to look at that storm with my own sense of awe. My interest transformed it. It became the most amazing storm I ever saw in my life. I remember it so clearly, even these twelve years later."

"Yes, this is exactly what my Master meant," Elsa said a moment later, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Finding the capacity to look at the world with fresh eyes. I would eat a single raisin to practice this. To feel the grainy texture of it. The hint of sweetness. I ate the raisin and thought of the grape it had come from, the sun that had struck it, the hand that had harvested it. Just a little raisin. Yet it held a whole universe inside it. If I can experience a single raisin with such wonder, can you even withstand how I look at you?"

Elsa touched a stray tendril of Anna's hair, to tuck it lovingly behind her ear. "So I will never tire of this, either, Anna. My love for you, I would keep it fresh and bright until the very end of my days."

"If I mean so much to you, surely you would find some way to stay with me, Elsa."

Anna hadn't meant to say something so harsh, but the words just slipped out of her mouth.

Elsa's face was dim, yet Anna still saw it change, saw a hard sort of hurt enter it, the same hurt she had seen the night of Elsa's birthday. "To be your servant, Anna? Your nurse? I would stay with you, Anna, if I could. But… would you stay with me? Wherever I'm doomed to go?"

Filled with a mixture of horror and desperation, Anna grasped Elsa's arm and said, "I've thought of it, Elsa, these last few days. I've wondered if I could leave my family, leave my title, my responsibilities. I've imagined us living in a little house together, with no concern greater than weeding the garden."

Elsa had already begun to soften at Anna's words. "Really?" she asked. "You've pictured this?"

"A little home of our own? Flowers on a simple tablecloth, fresh bread which I baked myself upon the table? Okay, I can't bake, but I would learn. I would give up everything, Elsa. My family. My title. My entire world. I would be with you. But."

"You can't." Elsa's voice was heartbroken, and she seemed to deflate into her pillow.

"So I believe now. But I have learned about the limitations of my belief, Elsa. Five months ago, I believed myself doomed. I believed only in death. And now look at my life. See how my belief was disproven…" She lifted a hand to touch and cup Elsa's face, gratified to see how Elsa melted into her hand. Elsa's eyes were fluttering shut; she could sense every inch of Elsa's tiredness, for she felt it herself.

"Now that I have you in my life, I can believe almost anything. I can dream of almost anything. Oh, darling, let's sleep now, and we'll dream together."

Elsa's body was already getting heavy again, wilting in Anna's arms. Anna shifted her position, so she could cradle Elsa in her arms. Elsa's eyes fluttered shut as she muzzily said, "I want to believe it, too, Anna. I want to dream a new dream.

"But. Leif's lightning. It really was orange."

And then Elsa fell asleep, leaving Anna to hold her in confusion and heartache.

...

A/N: Sorry for the late update, dear readers. I have lots of work, and I've started writing a new story. Rest assured, I will not stop this one. I, too, need to see how it will all end.


	24. Chapter 23 - Emptiness

Dear Readers: Thank you for your patience. This is the chapter you've been waiting for. Please note the change in rating (M). You may want to read this in private.

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

 **Emptiness**

The dawn was grey, and Elsa felt the greyness of it in her bones and muscles as she woke on the morning of December ninth. Her sleep had been broken several times, so she felt her weariness like clouds and cobwebs in her body and mind.

Yet all she had to do was look at the woman sleeping with her, and it was like rays of sunshine swept through the clouds, suffusing her with light and warmth.

Anna had come to her bed. While Elsa had become used to sleeping with Anna in her larger bed, she had hoped that Anna would also come to her. Despite all their time together, she still had a few deeply rooted worries and fears about the difference in their respective stations. She craved equality as much as she could get while still serving Anna as her nurse and therapist.

It was early, but Elsa knew that it would be futile to try and sleep again. Yet she stayed in bed, curled close to Anna, watching the grey light touch Anna's skin like shadows and doves. It was enormously comfortable to be here with her, to share love and companionship; Elsa had truly never believed she would find love again. Not in the time she had left.

As she lay there, quietly breathing with her hand curled over Anna's waist, Elsa thought of a movie she had seen on the airplane to Norway from India, as she was flying there to meet her family for the cruise. It had felt rather sinful at the time to watch a movie; she hadn't seen anything for years while she lived at the monastery. But the trailer had been interesting, so Elsa had plugged in her headphones and watched it as the continent slipped by underneath her.

The name of the movie was 'Signs'. And, halfway through the movie, two characters spoke to each other about the significance of crop circles showing up around the world and what they might mean. One brother asked the other, _'So what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, sees miracles?"_ The remainder of the film was a testament to the belief in signs, and, despite its focus on aliens, it had deeply touched Elsa's heart.

Elsa had already experienced small moments of seeming coincidence and wonder, where things happened just as they should, yet they could have been so different, turning on the edge of a dime. As she thought of the movie, she easily answered the question for herself. Of course she saw signs wherever she went. For her, coincidences were impossible, not with her belief in a benevolent, organizing universe.

That was before the orange lightning rent a gaping hole in her faith and her fortunes.

The orange lightning that both Anna and Leif saw.

Elsa took a deep breath as the tones of grey grew slightly lighter in her room. Of all the experiences of her children that Anna could have shared the night before, for Elsa believed there must have been many moments in which they could have taught her about freshness and a beginner's mind, Anna had chosen to tell her about this one. This one, of thousands.

Leif and his storms.

Leif and his lightning.

Leif and this lightning that he swore was orange.

Which had been Elsa's lightning. Of that, she had no doubt, though, before now, she hadn't known that the storm had appeared in both times.

Coincidence?

It was not.

Elsa thought of Anna's story, told in the intimate dark of midnight within the cocoon of this shared bed, and knew that it could only be a sign. It could only be a miracle.

Anna and Leif had actually witnessed the storm that had brought Elsa to this place and time.

It could mean only one thing.

It was time to tell the truth. Anna's girls had come and gone, and Elsa had run out of excuses. Only fear remained, as irrational as fear always was, and it was not a good excuse for her troubling silence.

Her fear was simple. Despite her evidence, Anna might not believe her. She could expel Elsa from her life. In the worst case, she could even try to commit Elsa to an asylum. The incredible joy she had discovered with Anna to be eviscerated, her hopes and dreams lying like bloody entrails on the ground, to fill the air with putrescence and inevitable rot.

She smiled at the vividness of her own mental metaphor as Anna shifted a little in her sleep, falling on her back so that she began to snore. Her hair had somehow become quite wild through the night. She had stayed up several hours later than Elsa the night before, in quiet congress with her girls, and Elsa anticipated that she would sleep for several hours more.

Elsa analyzed her previous thoughts and knew she was being ridiculous. Anna loved her. She would not commit Elsa to an asylum. But it was true that this truth might be more than Anna could bear. Their love to end, and Elsa to become only a nurse, kept around for her skill alone, never to be trusted again.

Elsa's story was going to be painful for Anna, no matter the eventual result. And Elsa wanted to protect Anna from pain, not inflict it upon her.

Sometimes pain was inevitable. Like the pain that perpetually squatted deep in Elsa's lower back and side.

Elsa softly kissed Anna's temple. Then, moving slowly and carefully, Elsa extricated herself from the bed. She pulled on heavy socks and tiptoed to the bathroom. As she returned, she ensured that Anna's bedroom door was closed; Kate would soon arrive to freshen the lounge and prepare the fire, and Elsa wanted no chance of discovery. She returned to her room, closing the door behind her. Anna slept on, heedless of Elsa's absence, so Elsa pulled on a heavier robe and then sank onto her meditation cushion. She had been remiss in this as well in her illness.

Remembering a lost red blanket and the spunky taste of butter yak tea, Elsa eased into her meditation. Her joints felt creaky, yet Elsa finally softened into her practice, blanketing out the world around her.

And there she drifted, for an unknown length of time. Communing with the Source of her spirit, connecting with the Divine.

At the end of her meditation, as she began to allow thoughts to float back into her consciousness, Elsa realized something.

She had once said that she would deny Anna nothing.

But Elsa had been proven a liar. Nothing more than a hypocrite. She had denied Anna several important things over the course of their new relationship. Intimacy in love-making. The truth about Elsa's past. And, most importantly, the truth about Elsa's future.

Time to throw her fears into the flames, there to perish along with her expectations. She would submit to the signs of her God and proceed with the belief that things would work out just as they were meant to.

Her shipwreck and Anna's accident were proof of this. These tragedies had borne such incredible fruit.

Recalling a line she had read in a book once, Elsa thought to herself, _"Not even the poet knows the end from the beginning."_

As she rose from her meditation and stretched, another thought came to her. _"My poem is not my own. I am not my own writer. I am the one being written. I am the emptiness, the blank page. So that means even I cannot fully anticipate how my poem will end, what squiggles will come upon the emptiness."_

It was a comforting thought, withal.

For Elsa had very firm ideas about where she came from, what was happening to her, and where she was going. Perhaps she would be proven wrong, in the end.

She desperately hoped she would be proven wrong.

…

Even as she drifted towards wakefulness, Anna could tell that something was wrong. There was a space, an absence. She sleepily put her hand to the side and felt… nothing.

That caused her eyes to fly open, only to see that she had been right. She was in Elsa's bed, yet the bed was empty.

Soft morning light stole through the shutters. She stretched and then she sat up, yawning. This room was still a little unfamiliar.

Searching for any sign of Elsa, Anna scanned the room. She saw Elsa's meditation cushion on the floor by the wall. There was the wardrobe and a bureau next to it, on top of which were some of Elsa's things. The bureau also had a clock; it read that it was well after nine in the morning; she had slept deeper and longer than anticipated. As she continued to scan the room, she noticed that the door had been left slightly open. She could hear the faint crackling of a fire in the lounge. Elsa was most definitely not here.

Initially slightly perturbed at waking alone and without the cuddles she had grown used to, Anna breathed through her disappointment. Who knows how long ago Elsa had woken. What was she supposed to do, just lay here waiting for Anna to wake up? Anna had stayed up much later than Elsa in conversation with her girls, and then it had taken her some time to fall asleep after Elsa's bizarre statement about Leif's lightning being orange.

She had no doubt in her mind that this was related to the storm Elsa had mentioned before. And, now that the visit was over, she was determined to get the answers she so desperately sought.

She was determined to get something else, too.

"Elsa?" she called out.

Nothing.

"Elsa?" she repeated, slightly louder this time. To her relief, she heard movement from the lounge, and the sound of Elsa's footfalls.

Elsa opened the door.

Dear god, she was beautiful, even in that adorably thick robe with heavy socks on her feet, with her white-silver hair plaited in a thick braid that hung over her shoulder. Anna's chest squeezed just to see her, even as she covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned again.

Elsa smiled for her and came to Anna's side of the bed. She sat down next to Anna and then, without saying a word, wrapped her arms around Anna and held her close. Anna relaxed into this warm embrace, clasping her hands around Elsa's middle and ducking her head close to Elsa's neck.

And there they stayed, for a wondrously long time that provided such ease to Anna's heart.

She finally lifted her head. Elsa cupped the back of her neck with her hand and kissed her. Only when the kiss finally ended did Elsa whisper, "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Good morning, darling. Have you been awake long?"

"Two hours or so," Elsa admitted. "How did you sleep, Anna? This is an unfamiliar bed."

"The bed may be unfamiliar, but you are not. I slept well, Elsa. How about you?"

"Passably well. I think I woke only twice."

"Including the time I woke you?"

Elsa smiled again as she put her hand on Anna's knee. "No. In addition to it. Yet, I'm so glad you came to me, Anna. Really. It meant a lot to me."

"There is no way I'm sleeping alone anymore, Elsa. Not here in Scarborough at least. Christmas and Iskall Slott… will be difficult."

"For me, too, love."

They spoke a little longer before Elsa helped Anna into her wheelchair to take her to the bathing chamber to get ready for the day. Kate came to serve them both a late breakfast; as they ate together, Elsa outlined her rehabilitation plan for the day. "Seeing as we've had such a late start, we'll do some stretching and yoga in the morning, and then, after lunch, we can go into the pool for some exercise. You can decide after that whether you want tea here or in the library with the others."

Anna readily agreed to Elsa's plan, and the day began to unfold. Anna continued to watch Elsa closely to be sure that she was not working herself too hard. Elsa caught her in several of these studious glances, laughed at her, and assured her that she was feeling so much better. Practically her normal self, in fact.

They separated for lunch in the Great Hall, and Anna's table conversation revolved around many topics, including the visit of her daughters-in-law the day before. The Countess asked about Anna's plans for the upcoming holiday, and Anna said that they would indeed be returning to Norway for Christmas, yet planned to return to the resort again in the New Year. Anna then learned that the Countess would be finishing her stay here at the resort before Christmas as well, and that she would not be returning; a three-month stay was long enough, for she had her own duties awaiting her. "Our table will be poorer for your absence," Anna remarked, honestly enough. The Countess had certainly helped Anna sharpen her mental and conversational skills. They would prove useful when she returned to Iskall Slott.

Elsa came at the conclusion of luncheon, to curtsey to the nobility and escort Anna back to their chambers to change into their bathing costumes. As Elsa helped Anna into her costume, Anna thought she detected something mischievous on Elsa's face.

"What have you got up your sleeve?" Anna asked, delighted to be able to use such slang with Elsa. She had never dared with Hans.

"That, my heart, is for me to know, and you to find out." Elsa leaned forward and gave Anna a quick peck on the lips.

"That's just what I was attempting to do," Anna harrumphed. Elsa laughed, and then excused herself to get changed into her own costume. Anna watched her walk away, again wishing she could see Elsa naked. It just wasn't fair! Anna was no longer ashamed of her wrinkles or her scars. Why was Elsa so resistant?

Bundled in their robes, Elsa wheeled Anna to the pool room. Where the reason for her earlier playfulness became clear.

The room was empty. Not even an attendant was there. Gauzy afternoon sunlight came through the high windows, setting the water alight with a million rippling sparkles. That same light rested gently on Elsa's impish face. "Elsa?" Anna asked as Elsa took her to the edge of the pool. "What's going on?"

"I arranged something special for you, today, my lady," Elsa replied. "I have a new treatment for you, and I finally managed to persuade the director to give us sole access to the pool for the next two hours. My heart, no one will disturb us. This space, this time, is ours alone."

Elsa's blue eyes were sparkling with life and merriment and mischievousness as she began to unbundle Anna from her wheelchair. She still had not regained any weight from her illness, though colour had thankfully returned to her face and skin. Her movements were deft, professional. It was so hard to look upon her as only a nurse and therapist. Anna had so many precious memories now, of snuggling in the sheets, and making out by the fire; quiet intimacy she had longed for her entire life.

Yet even now, as Elsa helped her into the cool water, Anna longed for more. She wanted the final expression of their love for each other. Why, oh why was Elsa so hesitant?

Every time Elsa denied her this, a little rent in her soul appeared; the hole thus created shivered with doubt and fear. As a result of Elsa's maddening reluctance, Anna was beginning to wonder if there really was something wrong with her. She hadn't been enough for Hans. What if she wasn't enough for Elsa, either? What if this hesitancy had nothing to do with Elsa's scars, and everything to do with Anna? Was it her age? Her body? Or, god forbid, an abnormality with her spirit and soul?

Despite all the health and strength she had regained in the last five months, Anna still felt inferior to Elsa. Every movement Elsa made seemed grounded and regal. She slipped through the water with effortless ease as she ensured their towels and robes were nearby. When she turned to face Anna once more, her entire aspect was one of deep-seated joy and light-heartedness. "We'll warm up first," Elsa suggested, not recognizing the torture of Anna's thoughts.

Anna nodded, not trusting words to come forth through the debris of uncertainty and longing in her throat. Elsa took her hands and led her deeper in the pool, where they stretched and bounced and walked; routines they had undertaken many times before. Despite Elsa's assurance that this space was theirs alone, Anna was careful not to let down all her defences. Elsa was not so experienced with the curiosity and sometimes deviousness of others; the doors to the pool room had uncovered windows, and errant glances were sometimes not so errant.

Curiosity about Elsa's new treatment began to take the place of her earlier fears, but just before she could ask Elsa what sort of activity she had in mind, Elsa led her to the middle of the pool; the sweet spot where Anna could most easily walk with the slick support of the water around her.

Facing Anna, Elsa paused, and somehow became even more rooted and elegant. She wrapped stillness around herself like the robe of an empress, and her small smile invited Anna to do likewise. Unspeaking, greatly trusting, Anna followed Elsa's example, taking a moment to truly feel the grit under her toes, the cool kiss of the water on her skin. There was faint hubbub beyond the doors of the pool as the activities of the resort persisted around them, but for here, for now, gravity descended, marking this moment with promise.

Elsa then bowed, gracefully inclining her upper body in homage, and as she rose again, she asked, "Will you waltz with me, Lady Skaldenfoss?"

Anna's throat constricted with joy and anticipation; she knew how to respond. Her body memory was exceptionally keen; she sank into that memory, trusting her healing body to support her, as she also dipped her knees and bowed in response. As she rose, she whispered, "Yes, Miss Wolff, and most gladly."

Radiant and quietly beaming, Elsa closed the space between them, taking the man's customary position as she took Anna's raised right hand with her left, and then she clasped Anna's middle back with her other hand. Anna's arm rested gently on Elsa's, her hand on Elsa's shoulder.

For one moment longer they regarded each other, hearts and bodies so close to each other in the rippling waters of the resort pool. Anna's heart began to expand in ways she had never before anticipated.

Then Elsa counted out the proper cadence as she whispered, "One…two… three." As she finished the count, she stepped forward, and Anna stepped back, just as she had done a million times before.

There was no music. They needed no music. Not when other symphonies appeared between them, music between their beating hearts, between the soft swish of water. The tempo was slow, sublime, majestic. Elsa was skilled, but a little uncertain, and Anna found herself subtly guiding Elsa through the waltz. How astonishing it was to dance again, oh dear god, she was _dancing!_

The water enveloped them, supported them as they continued to dance and sway. Elsa's hand upon her back was incredibly comforting, taking some of the pressure away from Anna's legs. However, Anna's knees and ankles, so newly returned to her, seemed exceptionally robust and bold, sparking with life and energy as they continued to support her in the dance. She was so astonished by their obedience that she looked down at them, once or twice, revelling in them.

"Oh, look at me, Anna," Elsa quietly urged. "Pretend I am your son, I am Johan. It is Christmas Eve, just look at me."

Anna looked back at Elsa, but never in a million years could she pretend that her companion was Johan. Elsa was far too compelling in her own right; her white hair pinned up high on her head with wet tendrils that framed her face, blue eyes clearer than the winter sky. Elsa was only slightly taller than she; Anna looked up and into her face.

And she saw love there. So much love. Love to cup her, and hold her, like the most perfect boat.

Anna trembled to see that love, and know it was all for her. Her heart continued to throb and expand as the waltz went on, as their bodies swayed and twirled through the water. Her mind was still roaring with the sensation of this dance, a dance she once thought she would never experience again.

The wrack and ruin of her body, of her heart and mind and soul had once seemed so insurmountable. Oh, the Anna of ago couldn't have imagined the beauty of this moment!

Pure unadulterated joy began to pulse from Anna's heart and skin as they danced in the water, beating in time with the unheard music. Oh gods, how Anna loved to dance, how she loved the feeling of a partner on her arm, the sound of the music that sifted into her muscles and bones, how a dress would whisper and twirl with her perfected movements! To dance was to be human, to experience joy and beauty and power that spooled back into the deepest history of humankind; superfluous it might seem, a lavish extravagance in a world that required industry and science and productivity, but Anna knew its true worth. Anna knew how dancing connected people in ways both subtle and profound.

How perfect that her first dance partner in a year would be Elsa Wolff.

Time stilled as they danced together, Anna and her therapist, Anna and her secret lover, and Anna momentarily forgot that she had been paralyzed for the last eleven months. It was so perfectly natural to be here in Elsa's arms, and to dance even though there was no music playing, to dance even though they were more than waist deep in water.

But this beauty slowly turned into torment, for Anna knew she wanted more. She wanted this moment for real. She wanted to dance with Elsa by the lights of the Christmas tree in the Great Hall of Iskall Slott, her hands in gloves, her feet in cunning heeled shoes, her body wrapped in a dress that was likewise a symphony of fabric and jewels. She wanted Elsa's eyes on her, she wanted Elsa to become voracious and possessive, and in this dance Anna would laugh, Anna would tease, and yet Anna would show her that she was hers, and only hers, for the rest of their lives.

It was an impossible daydream. For to dance on her own two feet would mean that she was healed, that she had completely created her new life, and what possible place could a nurse and therapist have within it? Gods, this was no fairy tale, there could be no happily ever after. Not for these two women, even though they so desperately loved each other.

Is that why Elsa denied her? If they loved each other so completely, if within love-making their souls would happen to blend and merge, would Elsa ever be able to rip herself away? Would Elsa be able to walk out of her life? Would Anna be able to let her go?

Because it was inevitable. One day Elsa would walk away. And every step Anna took in the water hastened that demise.

The resulting emptiness… it would consume her.

Unbearable agony bricked up her throat, and Anna stumbled and nearly floundered. "My lady?" Elsa asked, abruptly stopping the dance. She held Anna even closer, helping keep her upright. Her touch was thrilling; Anna wanted nothing more than to reach over and devour her!

Anna thought of those uncovered windows and the possibility of curious not-quite-errant eyes. "Look away, Elsa, for God's sake look away from me before I ruin everything," Anna whispered.

Hurt and confused, Elsa did as Anna bade and looked away. Her neck rippled as she swallowed her distress. Anna had stared at that neck for months. Desiring it. Experiencing it. She wanted it now. The emptiness upon it… she wanted to ravish it, to mark it, to claim it as her own. She wanted to feel it ripple as Elsa released a love cry.

 _Stop!_

Anna forced her attention away from Elsa. The moment she did so, she noticed the trembling of her legs and the runaway clatter of her heart. She was completely and utterly spent. She shot a despairing glance at her love. "Elsa," she breathed as her knees buckled once more and her body went completely limp.

Elsa caught her again, wrapping her arms around Anna's body before lifting her, taking that pressure away from her legs. Then Elsa towed her to the side of the pool where she gently extricated herself from Anna's arms. "Oh, that was too much, forgive me," Elsa breathed as she set Anna's hands upon the edge of the pool. Then she came closer, as if to cradle Anna and help keep her aright.

"Step away, look away, get away from me, Elsa, before I forget myself and kiss you senseless," Anna hissed.

Confused and concerned, Elsa stepped away and then looked away. It was barely enough. Anna focused on her breath and tried to regain her senses. Moments slipped away; she could hear Elsa's shortened laboured breath as easily as she heard her own.

So Anna actually turned her body, putting her back to her beloved, as she wrapped herself in the armour of the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss. She had to regain control!

Dancing had always equalled affection. She had loved Hans most when they danced. For all his faults, for his callous disregard of her feelings and his many acts of infidelity, he had been a marvellous dancer, smooth and graceful on his feet, utterly in sync with his partner and with the music. Anna had quickly learned how to hurt him most; it was to deny him his dance, so it was a weapon she rarely used. Johan had inherited his father's knack for dancing, though Leif never had.

And now, to dance with Elsa, even here in the water of a swimming pool, caused such a torrent of affection within her. It was a very good thing that Elsa had arranged the pool for their private use; despite forcing Elsa's attention away from her, Anna was convinced that their illicit love would be bald and achingly apparent to anyone with eyes to see. She daren't look at Elsa yet, for she knew she couldn't control her eyes. Her eyes would say plainly what words could not; her eyes would make love even if she couldn't.

So she waited, as if waiting could help.

But time did nothing to aid her. Her desire only deepened; every small movement Elsa made caused a ripple in the water, ripples that struck her, altered her.

So Anna forced herself to think the unthinkable.

She saw herself standing on her own two feet, upon the gravel drive at the entrance to Iskall Slott. She leaned on a cane, for it helped her stay upright. She saw Kristoff place Elsa's bag into the boot of the car, the rest of the servants arrayed outside in honour of Elsa's service to the Dowager Baroness. Her son stood next to her, along with her daughters-in-law. Anna raised her hand in farewell as Elsa climbed into the car. There was no agony on either of their faces; neither of them could show the shattered remnants of their hearts, the disembodied nature of their future, gone now and forever.

And then she saw Elsa drive out of her life. Tears burned inside her eyes, but would not slip down her face, even as Anna knew that it was all over. Forever. No more kisses, no more hugs, no more love.

Elsa would leave her, to serve someone else who so desperately needed her talents and skills. Elsa would leave her, because there were other lives that needed saving. Elsa would leave her, because this was her gift, this was her purpose in life. Anna would have to watch her go. And then Anna would succumb to empty, lonely nights for the rest of her life. She would never love, she would never marry again. Not after experiencing such perfection in love that Elsa had given her.

Elsa's temporary status in Anna Arendelle's life was as immutable a fact as Catriona's impending death from consumption had been.

But she would have Elsa before she left. She would know every inch of her body, and love every part of her universe. This very moment, in the winter-sparkled water, Anna swore it.

She would have her, and all of her. Soon.

Today.

Now.

"Anna, please talk to me," she heard Elsa ask. Her voice trembled with anxiety.

Anna wrapped herself from head to foot in steel. It had been months since she had resorted to such armour and defences. For the moment, it was necessary. Much was at stake.

Only then did she open her eyes once more, and she inclined her body slightly towards Elsa.

Elsa's face was pale and deeply concerned. And lovely. So very lovely.

"Take me back, take me in, quickly. Don't talk. Don't say a word. Just do it." Her voice was harsh, she heard it, she hated it, but would not change it.

Bound in steel, Anna distanced herself from it all, how Elsa pulled her out of the pool and swiftly dried her off before wrapping her in her robe. She put slippers on Anna's feet and settled her back into her wheelchair before similarly drying herself off and covering up. Anna was completely empty; she saw nothing, felt nothing as Elsa pushed her out of the pool room and down the hallway to their apartment. Elsa's hands fumbled with the keys to the door; she bent over to better see the lock, and Anna saw the trace of tears that had trickled down Elsa's cheeks. Elsa's entire expression was one of confusion and misery; all of it like acid corroding the steel Anna had cocooned herself in.

Anna vibrated with the effort of containing herself and her desire; she chafed inside the armour she had constructed. She consoled herself with the thought of what might come, as soon as they had truly acquired their particular sanctuary. She loved Elsa, but could not, would not invite a scandal.

Finally the door opened, and Elsa pushed Anna through before once again shutting and locking the door behind her. "Anna?" she tentatively asked. "Wha—"

"Not yet. Bedroom."

So Elsa continued to push her wheelchair, through the pretty little sitting room with its dormant fire, with the afternoon sunlight that splashed so decadently on the carpet and walls, glinting off the polished glassware and vases with cut flowers. Every square inch of this space speaking of Anna's station and privilege, the very attributes that would keep her from experiencing a future with her loved one.

The now would have to suffice.

Elsa wheeled her into her bedchamber. She came round once more to face Anna and seemed about to speak again when Anna said, "Shut the door, Elsa. Close the shutters. Light the fire."

Wordless and frightened, Elsa obeyed. The door was shut, followed by the shutters, and then her chamber was swathed in as much darkness as could be conceived upon a descending winter's day. There was just enough light to see her beloved, the woman who was the delight of her heart and soul, the woman who had just led her through the first dance she had had in nearly a year. Then Elsa bent and lit the fire, already expertly prepared by Kate, and it caught quickly, bathing her in an outline of growing orange. The chill in the room slowly began to subside.

Elsa turned to face Anna, and her face was filled with agony and uncertainty. Her hair was damp, and several silvery tendrils caressed her neck and shoulders. "Anna, please," she choked out. "What's going on? What happened in the pool?" She took several hesitant steps toward Anna, and then stopped, stricken. Anna could not stand the sight of the misery engraved on Elsa's features.

She knew what she had to do. What she wanted, above all else.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Anna shed all her armour, all her steel. Every plate and rivet of it.

She would not use words to respond. Words were empty.

So Anna grasped the arms of her wheelchair, nudged aside the footplates, and then stood up. Her willpower alone wrangled her exhausted legs and knees into obedience; up and up she went, until she stood tall on her feet. She reached out and grasped Elsa's hand, pulling her close. Elsa squeaked as she was tugged towards Anna; Anna reached out with her other hand to grasp Elsa's neck. She pulled Elsa's mouth down on hers, hot and hard and fierce. Elsa's lips opened in her surprise, and Anna immediately dipped her tongue inside, encountering the smoothness of her teeth, the softness of her tongue.

Elsa gasped under her, and Anna revelled in that gasp, gloried in the air that passed between their lips. It was nothing like the gasp that had led to her fainting spell a few nights ago. This gasp had all sorts of colour to it, every single colour of desire that every painter since the dawn of time had used to create their masterpieces; this moment was Anna's masterpiece, this woman was her canvas. Her fingers tilted Elsa's neck so she could kiss her from another angle, and make another broad stroke of combined passion upon the emptiness; she was an artist now, she was a craftsman, she gloried in the emptiness she saw, the blank paper before her, for it begged to be filled. She had spent her life avoiding emptiness, fearing the blankness, but now she saw the truth. The invisible ocean of it contained everything she needed!

She was a hollow vessel. An empty cup. There was room inside her, now, for someone else. There was room for the universe that was Elsa Wolff.

Anna's back began to ache, her knees to tremble; she had rarely stood for this long. She ignored it.

For Elsa was before her, and Elsa was hers. Elsa belonged to no one else; no one else could have her. Elsa would leave her one day, this was true, but first Anna would have her, Anna would know her, Anna would paint every last beloved expression of her adoration upon Elsa's canvas. In later years, when they were apart, Elsa could look back upon this masterpiece and know, to the very marrow of her bones, that she was loved.

Anna breathed her in. Anna devoured her.

And Elsa resisted her; she could feel hesitation in Elsa's hands, so tentative upon Anna's body, she could sense reluctance in Elsa's kisses. Anna's knees were about to buckle; she pivoted Elsa, pushing her down on the bed. Anna clumsily sat down next to her, yet she immediately reached for Elsa again. "Anna, wait," Elsa began to say, speaking between Anna's furious kisses.

"No more waiting. I want all of you."

Elsa put her hands on either side of Anna's face. She pulled away so that they could look at each other in the eyes. "Honey…"

Tears suddenly welled up in the corners of Anna's eyes as grief made a boulder of her heart. She pushed Elsa's hands away. "What is it, Elsa? Why do you make me wait? Am I too old for you? Is my body not desirable enough? What is it?" Anna was ashamed of the trembling desperation in her voice, but she couldn't control it.

Maybe she could never be enough. Not for Hans. Not for Elsa. Not for anyone.

Elsa's eyes widened in shock and horror even as she took and held Anna's hand with both of her own. "God, no, Anna. I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone in my life. You are the loveliest woman I have ever known." Her voice cracked on the words, yet it was Anna's heart that bled.

"Then what is it?" Anna demanded. "Elsa, tell me!"

Terror overwhelmed her at Elsa's stricken countenance; just what was Elsa about to say?

"Would you really choose to love me if you knew the full truth about me?" Elsa asked in a low cry. "I've… oh, I've lied to you, dearest. I've had to. You don't know where I really come from. Or where I'm really going. Please forgive me, Anna. I was only trying to protect you." Her voice choked to a stop.

There was only one answer for Anna Arendelle, Lady of Skaldenfoss. Her mind exploded in supposition and curiosity at the turn of Elsa's speech, but still she immediately replied, "The answer is yes," she said. "Yes, of course I choose to love you. You are my only choice now." Hesitant elation crept onto Elsa's face; she seemed to hang on to Anna's every breath, Anna's every word. "Elsa, is this why you've been so reluctant to make love to me? Stop! Stop trying to protect me. Don't be like everyone else and treat me like some porcelain doll. Look at me. Look at me and tell me truthfully, do you want me?"

"Yes, I want you," Elsa breathed, both devastation and hunger at war in her eyes. "I want you so very much." Then, with another desolate choke to her voice, she added, "But Anna, I… I will break your heart."

"Is that all?" Anna softly replied, lifting a hand so she could stroke Elsa's cheek. She saw how Elsa turned her face to nuzzle into Anna's hand. She traced Elsa's lower lip with her thumb and leaned close to her. "Then break it. My heart is yours. It will always be only yours."

Her heartfelt words shimmered between them. Anna watched as the vibration of them settled on Elsa's eyelashes, her lips. She watched those words transform her.

And then Elsa reached for her, with fervour that Anna had never yet encountered.

Any trepidation she had felt at not being desirable, of not being able to satisfy, quickly fled from Anna's mind at the hunger of Elsa's sudden response. Elsa swooped down on her as she wrapped her arms about Anna's body; chilled with the dampness of her bathing costume, Anna's skin thrilled to the sensation of Elsa next to her even as Elsa began to kiss her.

Now, as many times before, Elsa's hands cradled her and supported her as she kissed her, her mouth so voracious and possessive upon Anna's. "I was so confused," Elsa said between kisses. "You seemed to enjoy the dance so much, Anna, and yet…"

"Forgive me," Anna replied, trying to keep up with Elsa's passion unleashed. "Dancing with you brought out every bit of longing inside me. I had to have you. I couldn't wait any longer. Please don't make me wait any more…" They kissed again, and afterwards Anna noticed that Elsa's breath was still a little short. She held Elsa away from her long enough to glare at her. "And don't you dare faint on me again, Elsa Wolff. I couldn't bear it. If you're not feeling well, you better tell me. No more lies."

"I promise, my lady," Elsa replied, her voice filled with yearning as she hungrily reached for Anna again.

Anna thrilled to the yearning in her voice, just as her nerves thrilled to be held and caressed, just as her heart and soul thrilled to each one of Elsa's kisses. For they continued to kiss each other, there in the firelit ocean of Anna's bedchamber, the world around them tiptoeing away, leaving them in this tiny pocket of heaven. Each kiss only filled her with more desire; she found her extremities tingling, and warmth started pulsing between her legs. This was the truest arousal she had ever known in her life, and all because of this woman, her nurse, her therapist, her beloved.

Her Elsa.

Elsa surprised her by softly grasping the nape of Anna's neck, and once again she withdrew so that they could look at each other.

And in her quiet regard, so solemn yet so joyful, a droplet of peace somehow descended upon them, stilling the storm that had so furiously erupted. Sacred silence enveloped them, here in this warm womb of light and love.

The silence was empty. Vibrating with potential, with promise.

For both women were vulnerable. Both women were yearning for each other.

The stillness was potent and powerful as they looked into each other's eyes. If Elsa were an endless sea, then Anna was ready to drown in her. Out where there were no islands to shelter her, no land to protect her. Out where she was only breath, and bones, and skin.

That's where the great emptiness of the universe waited.

And then Elsa smiled for her, and in that smile they were both altered. They were both as young as new tulips, as fresh as night-time air that gusted so gently over spring gardens, both as innocent as the eternal stars that shone their primordial light.

They were both so young as their souls believed; the age of their bodies mattered little.

Anna lifted her hand and traced Elsa's lower lip with her finger. "Make love to me, Elsa," she whispered. "Make it slow. Make it last. Adore me. Please…."

Elsa took those questing fingers and kissed each fingertip before kissing Anna's palm. And then she said, "Of course, my darling."

Elsa lifted her face and their lips touched again. So soft and perfect now, such adoration and fondness! Anna felt her heart scrape against something deep and primal, along the once-fractured vertebra of her spine.

How wondrous this was, to experience love again, where once she had never thought to experience anything at all.

How was there no more fear? Her first kisses with Elsa had been filled with equal measures of joy and fear, yet this moment had only devotion, only anticipation. Anna knew exactly what she wanted to do, exactly what she wanted to have happen, for she had fantasized about this moment so many times.

Yet her fingers trembled a little as she tugged on one strap of Elsa's bathing costume and drew it down over Elsa's shoulder. She leaned forward and kissed Elsa's collarbone, tasting the slightly chemical taste of the pool water still on Elsa's skin. Anna continued to draw the thin strap down along Elsa's arm, until Elsa freed herself of it. Then Anna turned to the other strap, taking it in her hand and drawing it down along the milky length of Elsa's skin.

It helped that Elsa wore such a beautiful smile on her face as she watched Anna uncover her; everything about her was quietly inviting, a path, a journey, the destination of which Anna still could not comprehend. It was enough that some culmination finally awaited her, a special peak to this mountain of discovery.

Their swim costumes were short dresses, in fact, with bloomers underneath. The backs of which were partially scooped; the costumes worn by younger women exposed a near scandalous amount of skin. Elsa's bathing costume had always obscured the scars Anna had encountered the night of the great shiver. She wanted to touch them, honour them, and lave her tongue over them in silent appreciative worship. Those scars would connect her, however distantly, to her lost son.

So Anna urged the other strap down over Elsa's arm, until Elsa bent her elbow and pulled herself free of it. "I've wanted this so much," Anna murmured, amazed at the desire that kindled her to such degrees. "You've seen me naked so many times, Elsa. I felt it was so unfair!"

"I saw you with the eyes of a nurse, Anna," Elsa whispered. "A nurse knows how to veil her eyes. Rest assured, these are the eyes of a lover. A lover who adores everything she sees. You, my dear, you are enchanting me."

"I dearly hope so. My darling, are you ready?"

"Dear god, yes."

Elsa was sitting upright on the bed next to her. Anna took the upper hem of her swimming costume and began to pull it down, down over the raised mounds of her breasts. She glanced up at Elsa as she did so, seeing that Elsa's eyes were dilated in the dimness of the room, yet her smile was as warm and inviting as ever. "Go on, my heart," Elsa pled. "I am yours. Now and forever."

The words, surely meant to be encouraging, only scorched the edges of those rents in Anna's soul, made that dismal empty future of Elsa's loss she had envisioned all the more calamitous.

She forced all those thoughts away and focused on the here and now.

For Elsa was here. Elsa was now. And she was about to bare Elsa's body and soul.

The moment, meant to be alluring, actually turned comical as she found she could not tug the garment down over Elsa's generous breasts. "Might be better over the head," Elsa helpfully suggested. She lifted her arms to illustrate and assist. Anna huffed her displeasure even as she helped Elsa shimmy a bit, releasing the bottom hem of the dress.

Then she lifted it, up, up and over Elsa's head in a droll series of slight mishaps that helped to alleviate all the tension in the room. Yet she was finally able to lift the costume up and over Elsa's head (though it caught on Elsa's braid in the final moment, my god, would nothing happen as it should?), and then she tossed it into some shadowy corner of the room.

And then Anna took a moment to look in frank admiration, even as she lifted her hand to touch Elsa's nearest naked breast. There was the slightest look of apprehension on Elsa's face; what was she thinking? That these breasts, although they sagged with age, could be anything but beautiful? Anna traced around Elsa's pale breast before cupping it in her hand; her thumb touched the coral-coloured tip that was already peaked with interest and desire. Elsa made a little sound as Anna touched her there, and she lifted her neck even as she arched her back a little forward, pressing her breast into Anna's hand.

Anna felt triumphant as she shimmied closer to her, enraptured by that neck. She had to touch it with her lips; she had to brand it with the fire of her tongue. She kept her hand on Elsa's breast, gently teasing the nub, as she leaned forward and kissed Elsa's neck, there by her artery. She could feel so much life in this woman! She kissed and suckled this beautiful place a few moments longer, her lips comfortable here, her lips perfectly at home.

When she withdrew Anna knew what she wanted to do next. Smiling at her love, she began to push Elsa back down on the bed; Elsa took a moment to array her legs in a more comfortable way, and she placed her head on the pillow as she lay herself down on Anna's mattress.

It was the perfect position. Anna scooted next to Elsa's waist, and saw how Elsa's breasts stood proudly at attention, the cool air causing them to ripple with gooseflesh. "Should we add some wood to the fire?" Elsa impishly asked, her hands grasping Anna's costume-clad hips, desperate to touch her.

"I'll be your fire," Anna growled, even as she placed her hands on either side of Elsa's bare upper body and leaned down. She didn't hesitate at all; her mouth went immediately and unerringly to Elsa's closest breast, taking the hard nub of it within the soft warmth of her mouth. Elsa's body writhed under her and her hands came upon Anna's skin, holding her in place as Anna continued to suckle and nurture that engorged little bud.

"Gods above, Anna," Elsa breathed. The tremble in her voice was filled with delight; it only emboldened the Dowager Baroness.

"You've been hiding these beauties from me for months, Elsa," Anna chastised as she switched to the other breast, taking it between her lips. She lifted one hand and plumped Elsa's breast as she suckled it, glorying in how Elsa continue to bend and undulate beneath her.

"How do you know this?" Elsa breathed. "How do you know what to do?"

"Some things are instinctual, Elsa," Anna whispered as she reluctantly took her mouth away from Elsa's breast in order to reply. "You say you have a purpose. Maybe I have one, as well. Perhaps I was born only to love you."

At that, Elsa's eyes widened; she then reached for Anna and yanked her closer so that she could kiss Anna's lips. Anna squeaked and practically fell upon Elsa's front, but neither of them seemed to mind. The only thing that stood between them was Anna's own bathing costume, lingering yet with a hint of dampness from their dance in the pool.

"That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard," Elsa moaned between ardent, heart-stopping kisses. "I sometimes feel I was born only to give and give and give and never receive in return… Oh, Anna. Could it be true? Were you born to love me?"

Anna kissed her once more before saying, "Why not? You think our purpose is single? It is no straight line, Elsa, no more than a life could be a straight line. Why couldn't we believe that purpose could be aching and winding and complex, changing through the seasons as we grow and age? As we encounter other souls who love us, and change us?" Her mouth descended upon Elsa's once more, her tongue touching the velvet tip of Elsa's own. "Just as you have loved me, and changed me?"

Elsa's breath hiccupped underneath her. Elsa met her kisses, matched them, surpassed them, before saying, "My heart, this is as much truth as I have ever heard in my life."

Anna took Elsa's naked breast in her hand, cupping it, cherishing it. Her thumb swirled over the triumphant tip once more. "So you have lied to me, Elsa. You say you will break my heart. I care not for our future heartbreak. Wherever you come from, wherever you are going, for now we are together. I am yours, darling.

"And you. You are mine. Both now and forever."

"Yes, I am," Elsa breathed. "Now and forever. My darling, I…," and then she could not finish her sentence, for she arched her neck and back, for Anna had once again encircled the tip of Elsa's nipple with her warm and eager lips. Anna easily remembered how this had felt the night they had made out by the fire, how Elsa had teased her breast through her clothing. Surely it must be a thousand times better without the barrier of cloth!

Daring greatly, Anna nipped at that nub with her teeth.

Elsa's response was electric. Her eyes flew open and they were smoky, intense, clouded by arousal. Elsa abruptly sat up, displacing Anna on her lap. Her mouth latched onto Anna's; one hand crushed Anna to her as the other one slid down her back, seeking the hem of her costume. Anna's senses were muddled by the intensity of Elsa's response; she barely recognized that Elsa had found the hem of her swimming dress and was yanking it, up, up over her head.

It fell somewhere to the side, beyond the island of devotion they had created.

Both women were now bare-breasted. Warm firelight shone upon them, blessing them. A first shiver of nervousness cascaded through her, aided and abetted by the still slightly cool air in the room. Would Elsa really love all of her? Could her ageing body respond the way she wanted it to?

"My love, my darling," Elsa murmured as she urged Anna's body back against the foot of the bed. She rested on one elbow next to her even as her other hand cupped and squeezed Anna's breast. "Have you any idea how hard it was for me to be only a nurse with you?" She leaned down and kissed Anna's breast. "There was one night in particular, you had just finished dinner and Gerda was helping you with your hair upstairs. I… I stared at you, Anna. I had never seen anyone so beautiful, so enchanting. Oh, how I wanted you! Even then."

"And now?" Anna asked, aware of her naked chest, exposed for the first time to Elsa as a lover. "Am I still beautiful?" There was a slight tremble to her words.

"Inside and out. Body and soul. Now and forever." Elsa's mouth descended once more upon Anna's breast, her tongue lapping against the proud tip of it. She lapped and teased for some time, stoking the fire that steadily burned inside Anna's core, driving her nearly mad with the lack of fulfillment. "May I take off your bloomers, Anna?" she finally asked.

"God, yes."

Elsa sat up and took the edge of Anna's bloomers in her hands. Her smile was gentle, inviting, even as she tugged the garment over Anna's hips, then down her legs, and then, with a final flick of the wrist, it disappeared over the island of their shared bed. As Elsa conducted these movements, Anna caught her first glimpse of the scars upon Elsa's back; her throat closed up as her eyes reddened.

Elsa turned back to her, and immediately noticed something was wrong. "What is it, Anna?" she asked.

Anna shivered. Despite the crackling warmth of the fire, she felt chilled. She shook her head even as she sat up and wrapped her arms completely around Elsa's body. Elsa embraced her in return, soothingly stroking her back. "What is it, love?" she repeated.

Anna tucked her head by Elsa's shoulder as her hands slid down Elsa's naked back. Her fingers found the edges first; putting her eyes into her fingertips, Anna explored the massively scarred expanse of Elsa's lower back. Smooth in places, ridged in others, the scars seemed to take up nearly all of Elsa's lower back, disappearing even under the edge of her bloomers.

"I once thought these scars were the sum and total reason for your hesitation," Anna said as she continued to explore with her fingertips. "I wondered if you thought yourself ugly. How I wanted to protest, Elsa! There is no part of you that I could ever find unattractive."

"There's something more on my back that you have not yet seen," Elsa replied, all sorts of unease in her voice. "I hope you will see it and not judge me too harshly."

"So take off your bloomers, please," Anna murmured, rising from her perch on Elsa's skin. "And show me your back."

Elsa gulped, but did as Anna asked. She withdrew from Anna's embrace and then stood up from the bed. She bravely faced Anna as she pulled down her bloomers, slowly exposing a thatch of blond hair between her long and shapely legs; she blushed as she stepped out of the garment and tossed it aside. Anna blushed along with her; she had rarely seen a grown woman naked before. Her heart thumped to finally see the length of Elsa's body, her skin glowing in the yellowish orange firelight. Her ribs were too prominent, as were her collarbones. Her hips were angular. Yet she was, to the very last eyelash and toenail, the most beautiful thing Anna had ever encountered in her life. To finally see her naked caused a fresh torrent of desire to rage within her; she could scarcely keep herself from leaping upon her.

Elsa ducked her head, still blushing, even as she sat down on the bed again. She wrapped her arms around her chest, whether from anxiety or from the persistent winter chill, Anna could not tell. Slowly, deliberately, she turned herself around so that Anna could see the entirely of her naked back.

Anna gasped. "Elsa?" she whispered, as she lifted her hand to touch what could only be called a tattoo. She knew such things existed, that men would travel to Israel or Turkey and return with compelling drawings inked into their skin, but she had never seen a woman with a tattoo before, save as a sideshow circus curiosity.

"Do you like it?" Elsa asked, a quaver to her voice.

It was the head of a wolf, about five inches across and down, geometric and stylized and squarely situated upon Elsa's lower back between her hips. Anna was mesmerized by it; the black lines of it were so incredibly compelling, even obscured as they were by sheets and ripples of scar tissue; Elsa's skin here was darker in hue, smooth and hairless. "How?" Anna sputtered. "Where?"

"In Istanbul. When I was very young. Yet I have never regretted it. Not even now."

Anna lifted her hand and touched it, tracing the edges of it, even as an old memory ghosted to her of Elsa's first day of service. Anna absently replied, "Don't you mean Constantinople?"

Sigh. "Yes."

Anna finished tracing it. "It's beautiful," she said. Her throat was tight as she regarded the mangled mess that was Elsa's back. Her fingers went there next, to fondle and caress this most beloved skin. How her beloved Elsa must have suffered!

Her suffering back then, and her suffering of a week ago, had all been for the family Skaldenfoss. For Anna.

Elsa inclined her head, looking back at her over her shoulder. Her eyes were shining. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes." Anna continued to touch this skin with some reverence, for she could readily see the echoes of agony and ancient pain that continued to vibrate therein, even after six years. She touched the scars with her fingers, and then she urged Elsa to lean forward so she could touch them, kiss them with her mouth. Elsa's next inhale was coloured with delight.

"Anna…" she whispered.

Anna found the surgical scar with her lips, and then she traced it with her tongue, experiencing how puckered it was, where it hid the now missing kidney. Such sacrifice, given to someone Elsa had barely known. Given to Anna's most beloved son.

Leif and his causes. Leif and his lightning. Leif and his shattered structures.

"Thank you," she whispered, speaking now to the flesh and bone beneath the skin. "Thank you for all you suffered, for all you've done."

Elsa's entire back cascaded in a shiver; it transferred right to Anna's own skin, setting her hair on end. Elsa turned to face her, a ravenous smile on her face. "Two seconds," she whispered, as she quickly rose to stoke and add wood to the fire. Anna's greedy eyes tracked every movement, entranced by how the firelight made a precious monument of Elsa's bare skin.

Elsa swiftly returned to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. She turned open the coverlet, exposing the emptiness of the sheets, helping Anna take a place in the middle of the bed. She then reached for Anna, grasping Anna's neck as she kissed her, and then she bore Anna back down once again on the bed, turning her so Anna was upon her pillow. "Lie down," Elsa suggested between kisses; Anna straightened her legs and tucked her feet under the blankets, curious as to what Elsa had in mind, even as she put her head on her pillow.

Elsa's kisses were incredibly curious and insatiable; her lips began to rove down Anna's body, stopping at her neck, her collarbone, the upper swell of her breast, the tender nipple… her hands were on Anna's hips, somehow adjusting them so Anna's legs began to fall open in a clear invitation.

But then Elsa's mouth continued to go lower and lower, kissing Anna's flat stomach, and then the tender skin just below Anna's belly button. "Elsa?" Anna asked, tremulous and uncertain. The air was still chilly; Anna shivered once more, her entire upper torso still exposed.

Elsa was perched next to Anna's legs; her face was a composition of excitement and arousal. "You've never experienced this," Elsa said, her voice knowledgeable and even a tiny bit sad.

"Experienced what?" Anna replied, breathless and mystified.

Elsa's hands were upon her hips, and with one curious movement, she grasped Anna's thighs and somehow tucked them, opening them wide. Elsa then crawled into the sacred space thus created, shimmying down on her front so that her face was close to Anna's mound. Her arms went under Anna's thighs and slightly lifted, so Anna's core was presented to her like candy on a platter. "This," Elsa whispered.

And then Elsa put her lips down there, there between Anna's legs, there where lips had never gone before. Anna's mind went blank; she grasped the sheets with her hands, making fists of them, as she felt Elsa's mouth and tongue begin to move against her core. "Oh…" Anna softly moaned, even now distantly aware of the thinness of the walls around them. Even now censuring herself as a Baroness must.

Elsa glanced up at her, her beloved eyes twinkling in the glow of this chamber, before she returned all her attention to laving, kissing, lapping at Anna's core. Never in all her years had Anna even believed that such love-making could exist; she had always felt embarrassed and gauche when ladies would speak about such private things as their husbands pleasuring them, and then anger would displace her embarrassment as she then thought of Hans and how he had only taken from her, rarely giving in return.

So Anna tilted her head backwards and sank all her awareness into the freshness of this feeling, how something at the core of her was beginning to twist and writhe, how pressure began to build, how a yearning began to take almost physical form within her. Elsa continued her assault on Anna's senses; Anna began to ache with wanting. She could feel her release coming, dancing shyly towards her as if through winter-sparkling water, and she wanted it, oh how she wanted it!

But she wanted something else even more.

Undeniable longing and tenderness continued to mount within her and Elsa seemed too far away, even though her mouth and tongue were somehow along her, questing softly just inside her… Anna felt Elsa's tongue gently penetrate her, and she writhed once more and made some sort of mewling, desperate cry.

Elsa lifted her face, and everything in her expression spoke of her understanding, her compassion, her endless satisfaction and delight. "Do you like this, Anna?"

"Yes," Anna whispered, still breathless, still aching. "But, Elsa, what are you really doing…?"

In the space of those words, Elsa had moved her hand. Her fingers slid along the edges of Anna's core and then, a knowing and loving smile on her face, she slipped two fingers deep inside. Anna went rigid as she felt this glorious pressure, this magnificent and somehow unexpected fulfillment. Elsa's fingers began to move inside her, gently thrusting, her thumb brushing against Anna's engorged pearl.

The sensation of it was unreal, intense… Anna's once-broken back arched in pleasure as Elsa pulled her fingers nearly all the way out before pushing them in again, curling them inside her, touching something rough and tender in the depths that made Anna almost insane with desire. The pleasure was nearly too much to bear; never had Anna experienced this before, never in all her years!

Desperate to connect with Elsa, she reached down and touched Elsa's still damp hair, and then her shoulder. But she was still too far away! Whimpering a little in her distress, Anna cried, "Elsa, please!"

Pausing in her movements, Elsa looked concerned as she replied, "What is it, love?"

"You're too far away. I… I need you. I need you closer."

Elsa smiled in understanding. She kissed Anna's stomach one more time and then began to crawl closer to her, somehow managing to keep her fingers in Anna's center. Anna retained her senses enough to hold open the blanket, and gladness filled her as Elsa curled next to her, lying next to her as she had done every night they slept together. Anna furled the blanket back over them, so grateful now for Elsa's warmth against her chilled skin.

Elsa settled herself next to Anna, and every movement she made changed the position of those fingers inside, sending Anna's senses in a dizzying spiral. As soon as Elsa was next to her, Anna opened her legs even wider, tenting one knee over Elsa's leg, giving Elsa even more access to this wild, sacred space.

Wanting, needing something that only Elsa could give her.

"Yes," Elsa breathed. "Relax now, baby. Let me love you. Let me adore you. You can return the favour later." With the culmination of her words, Elsa's fingers began to move once more, stroking her, finding spaces within her that had never been discovered before.

Needing even more connection, Anna lifted a hand to pull Elsa's mouth down on hers. Elsa near savagely kissed her as her fingers continued their pulsing, strobing onslaught of Anna's center. Elsa seemed to understand her unspoken need; those beloved questing fingers inside her began to reach farther, thrust deeper than before, even as Elsa also opened Anna's lips with her tongue to hungrily plunge into her mouth.

Her kisses were sizzling, magmatic; Anna's senses began to reel. Elsa would not, better not stop! Her tongue caressed the insides of Anna's mouth the very moment she added a third finger inside Anna's core. Bucking her newly awakened hips, Anna found she wanted even more of Elsa inside her. She began to rock her hips in tune with Elsa's gentle yet insistent thrusts; Elsa ripped her lips away long enough to hoarsely whisper, "That's it, baby. Enjoy it. Enjoy every moment of it." She punctuated her words by teasing Anna's slick pearl with her thumb.

Enjoy? Anna had never enjoyed anything so much in her life; she felt wanton and very nearly sinful as she allowed Elsa to ravage her, her senses aflame, her heart near to bursting with longing and happiness, and Elsa was there with her, Elsa was within the molten core of her, her hand so slick and so warm, the pressure of it so _intense_ now, and Anna was climbing, climbing hand in hand with Elsa up an incredible slope of longing and devotion; everything else in her world had fallen away somehow, every other worry and care that had ever passed over her sweet and infinite consciousness; there was only this moment, just as there was only this woman, with her hands, her skin, her breasts, her fingers that dipped so lusciously, so _deeply_ inside, as if to discover the untold edges of Anna's very soul, to find the far beaches and reaches of her endless sea, to encounter the most distant galaxies of her thoughts and memories; and then the summit appeared, oh there was the peak, there was the very tip of the mountain that Anna had so rarely climbed with her late husband as her partner, and Elsa kissed her as Anna came upon the zenith, Elsa kissed her hard, Elsa kissed her deep, Elsa opened her mouth with her steadfast tongue and swallowed her cries of release.

Anna was empty when it was over.

But this emptiness had nothing to do with lack or a need for distraction. This emptiness she felt was rich with _possibility_.

Vibrating with this emptiness and potential, with love and abiding affection engulfing her in beauty and warmth, trembling in the throes of her long-awaited release that had left her body as limp as cloth, Anna pulled Elsa closer to her, cradling her along the length of her body. Elsa kissed the scar on her forehead, her free hand caressing the streak of white in Anna's hair; the devotion of it was searing. Anna felt a moment of even greater emptiness when Elsa finally, gently, removed her hand, but then Elsa allowed Anna to tuck her so tenderly, so closely to her body.

Anna felt Elsa's heart, beating as fiercely as her own.

Their hearts were anvils, forging them together for now and for all time.

And Anna _knew._

She was no longer one being. She was empty of a separate self. She could no longer exist alone, but only as part of the greater cosmos.

Shuddering in the aftermath of her orgasm, Anna understood something incredible.

Elsa was the product of her parents, just as Anna was the product of hers. And Kate had laid this fire that blessed them with warmth, and many hands prepared the food that sustained them, and unknown artists had painted the landscapes that adorned their walls, and some seamstress had stitched together this coverlet that protected them, and everything was connected, from the fire to the blanket to the woman whose body was so lean and angular next to hers; and this is what _emptiness_ truly was, a non-attachment to form…

There are many waves upon the endless sea. If a single wave sees only its form, and identifies itself with a beginning and ending, then it would be afraid of birth and death. When the shore came, it would tremble, it would fear to contact the sand. Such a wave would only see the ending of all it had ever known; it did not know that it was part of an eternal sea, that it could and would be absorbed into the bosom from which it had been created.

But if a wave knows itself as water, it would be emancipated from birth and death. Each wave comes and goes, but water is eternal.

Each body comes and goes, but souls are eternal.

And in their first incredible act of love-making, Anna felt that she and Elsa had become connected beyond any point of removal; the orgasm that had shattered her structures and left her in distinct and bleating pieces had only revealed the greatness of her unified soul, a soul she once thought lost and dying along with Hans in the blood-spattered snow.

No matter what happened to them now, no matter what storms assailed them; Anna knew that she and Elsa would somehow remain together.

Even when their bodies would be wrenched apart. Even when life would separate them.

For they were only part of the greater cosmos surrounding them; their precious energies were one and whole with the universe that thumped, beat, thrilled and vibrated moment by moment.

Indeed, nothing could ever separate them, not when they were verily stitched together beyond all possibility of separation. They were one cloth, one tapestry, one sea. Now and forever. Love bound them together. Just as love bound together any kindred spirit.

For never in her life had Anna loved anyone as she loved Elsa Wolff in this exact moment. This very Elsa Wolff, with her secrets, her tattoo, and her scars.

Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and she abruptly clutched Elsa even closer, tangling their legs together under the blanket. She could scarcely breathe for the transcendence that had come upon her, all her previous resistance only creating a moment that was powerful in the extreme.

Even her resistance was blessed, by this universe that so adored her. That so blessed her with the love of this woman.

"Baby?" Elsa whispered.

Anna could only close her eyes to that wondrous word, to the emotion she felt within; so cherished she was, so nurtured, just like a babe. Elsa's hand came once again upon her breast, to nurture and caress that swollen nub, even as Elsa leaned forward to kiss Anna's collarbone. "Are you all right?" Elsa whispered. There was the slightest feather of worry in her words.

The light in the room was dim; only shades of orange and grey showed her the face of her lover, her partner.

Out in the lounge, Anna heard the clock begin to chime the hour; it was four pm on December the ninth.

...

A/N: Really looking forward to your reviews and feedback on this one. :) Much love, Jen


	25. Chapter 24 - Seeing

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

 ** _Seeing_**

"Baby?" Elsa asked, holding Anna close, feeling her body tremble and thrum in the aftermath of her incredible orgasm. The searing magnificence Elsa had felt moments ago, blessed to be the one to bring Anna to such aching release, began to be supplanted by worry. Had it been too much for her to bear? Had Elsa somehow been too rough? Caught up in the wonder of experiencing Anna's naked body and universe for the first time, Elsa hadn't been overly careful, despite knowing that this was the first time Anna would have experienced lesbian love. Her need for Anna had been that acute!

Anna closed her eyes; her breath was rocky, her body limp. Elsa reached out to touch and hold Anna's breast, needing to feel the heartbeat beneath. Her own heart cresting over with fulfillment and emotion, Elsa leaned forward to kiss Anna's collarbone; she just couldn't get enough of Anna's flesh, body, and soul!

Anna still hadn't replied. She still shuddered and vibrated, and her heart tripped along at a furious rate that Elsa, as a nurse, found slightly disturbing. "Are you all right?" Elsa asked, not wanting to break the precious skin of this silence, yet a feather of anxiety compelled her to do just that.

A sliver of time passed, achingly long for this nurse and therapist.

Out in the lounge, the clock began to chime. It was four pm on December the ninth.

The sound of the chimes seared their way into Elsa's consciousness, and she felt a distinct slice between _then_ and _now_.

Throughout her life, Elsa had experienced moments that were swords, cleaving past from future forever. Some of them were seemingly innocent at the time, and only hindsight rendered them any sort of understanding. Such as the moment that Elsa's father had glanced back at her fourteen-year-old self, seated in the back seat of the family car. Agdar had laughed in appreciation of her silly teenage jest, his hands comfortable on the steering wheel of the SUV even though a winter storm bared its teeth outside. Elsa could still see his silvery hair, the generous wrinkles by his tanned and leathery face, the crookedness of his teeth. Her younger brother had been there as well, though he seemed to have rolled his eyes at her inane joke instead of laughing.

And then the sword had fallen, severing her from father and brother forever.

Elsa used to have another scar on her lower back, from yet another emergency surgery, but it had been obliterated by newer, shinier burn tissue from six years ago.

And now, to have this quivering quiescent Anna in her arms, and to feel so triumphant and ascendant; Elsa knew that this very moment was yet another sword, separating her forever from a past that did not have love-making with Anna Arendelle in it. The future, she could not yet see, but she had hope now, hope that her fate could somehow be altered. Surely the universe would not part them, not when they had been stitched so completely together. Surely they could remain together, when all otherworldly tides would rip them apart.

Surely the very universe itself would honour this love between lady and therapist; would accept the tribute of complete submission given by someone who had never experienced this particular _petit mort_ of sexual release.

For even now Elsa could scarcely believe the intensity of her lady's response; Elsa had rarely witnessed such a complete and utter release.

Elsa held Anna in her arms, and Elsa _saw._

Perhaps it had been Anna's first true orgasm, given to her in endless devotion and love. If so, Elsa mourned that it had taken so many years for Anna to experience it, and she gloried in the fact that she had been the one to give it to her.

Her fingers had been deep inside her lover, finding and caressing that rough, glorious spot in her core; Anna's body had gone rigid, her hands gathering sheets, her jaw taut and throat exposed; Elsa could feel her inner walls clamping down on her fingers, holding her in place as she soared towards utter fulfillment, with one last swipe over Anna's dewed pearl Elsa then stopped all her deep relentless thrusting, for Anna was upon the abyss, Elsa could _see_ it, oh there was nothing more glorious than bringing a partner to this edge, and then Anna's entire body had rippled and spasmed; her mouth opened and Elsa hungrily latched onto her, desperate to kiss her and to silence her in order to keep their secret, wanting to share this momentary emptiness with her.

Elsa had learned the value of emptiness, the glory of silence. How it ached and yearned to be written upon, to be painted, to be fulfilled!

And as Anna slowly came down from the trembling throes of her long-awaited fulfillment, Elsa felt distinct pain knife her in the heart with this razor sharp sword. From this moment on, Elsa never wanted to be parted from Anna ever again; she would do anything to remain with this red-haired, teal-eyed dynamo of a woman for the rest of their lives. Anna's dream of a little cottage was so enticing; there would be fresh flowers in vases, and Anna would somehow burn the crust of bread in the oven, and yet the night would find them meshed together.

Elsa would share this dream with her.

If only she could.

A future sword awaited them. Could nothing abate its fall?

Anna began to calm in Elsa's arms; her body slowly stilled, though she instinctively drew even closer to Elsa, burrowing into Elsa's warm body. An immense feeling of protectiveness and adoration rose up within Elsa's breast, and her eyes reddened as she held Anna close, soothing her back down to earth. It mattered not that she had not yet achieved her own release; to cause and then witness Anna's orgasm had been incredibly erotic, and already Elsa wanted to make love to her again, to slip inside Anna's body and soul and thereby discover even more of her precious cosmos.

Only two hours had passed since they had entered the pool together. Dancing with Anna had been a glorious dream, and only now was Anna's strange behaviour afterwards understandable. Once here in the safety of their chambers, no one had ever reached for Elsa with such hunger and need. Elsa finally understood why Anna had acted so strangely in the pool, going so far as to speak so harshly and shut herself away. In fact, Anna's odd behaviour had only made this act of love-making even more acute and endearing.

 _Remember, that without valleys there are no mountains._

As entwined as they were together, their bodies melded together, their hearts beating as one, that Elsa easily felt Anna take a slow, deep breath, released ever so gently over her full lips in a sigh.

Anna finally opened her eyes.

They were soft, open, and vulnerable. So very trusting. So very loving.

Elsa looked into their depths and knew that they were the only sea she ever wanted. Oh, she wished she could bathe in them for the rest of her natural life!

She would make these seas endless.

"My god, Elsa," Anna whispered, her words slightly slurred. "I… I never imagined…" Her words lapsed into silence as she nestled once again into Elsa's body.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Elsa couldn't help but ask.

"Not really…" Anna said, her voice muffled, obscured as it was by her head near Elsa's shoulder. "It… it was…" and only then did she lift her head once more, and oh how Elsa's soul squeezed to see Anna so love-mussed and perfect, and then Anna whispered, "…I've never felt that before. Never. In fact, I never thought I could."

Anna's hand seemed very heavy, but she lifted it to stroke Elsa's cheek. Elsa watched as Anna's eyes reddened, and then a single drop of dew trickled from her eye. "I would need a mouth as wide as the ocean to say how much I love you, Elsa. What you just shared with me…" Her voice died out, likely due to the joy that Elsa could sense within every word, and Elsa leaned forward to kiss her once more, lifting a hand to caress and hold Anna's neck as they kissed.

Anna seemed to regain some of her earlier vigour within the kiss; at one point Elsa began to withdraw, but Anna held her in place with that raised hand, her fingers outstretched in Elsa's pool-stricken hair, pressing their lips together. Her body began to shift and turn toward Elsa as the kiss went on, and Anna rediscovered the silken depths of Elsa's mouth. Elsa's personal fire had been far from doused in the course of this love-making; Anna's heated kisses stoked it anew.

How had she ever defied this woman? It was no longer possible to resist any part of her. Anna represented everything Elsa had ever wanted in life. And now she was here, ripe for Elsa's taking.

Elsa had taken her once, and would take her again. And again.

And again.

Elsa couldn't help herself; she parted Anna's legs once more with her own, insinuating her thigh between them, pressing with quiet intensity between Anna's legs and upon her core. Her own center, wet now with her arousal, pressed against Anna's hip and pelvis; she was hard-pressed not to rake herself against Anna and take what she so desperately wanted. Instead, Elsa lifted herself upwards slightly upon one elbow, not wanting to crush Anna with her own need, as she recaptured Anna's lips once more, nipping at them, sliding inside Anna's warm mouth. Anna's tongue seemed conscious and knowledgeable to her, full of secrets. Her teeth, they were strong and nourished, capable of proving a sure foundation for this time-tumbled woman.

Anna seemed slightly startled by the continued depth of Elsa's need, yet she opened her legs wider and even rubbed her mound against the hard length of Elsa's thigh. The suddenness of this movement caused a veritable firestorm within the time-travelling nurse-therapist; she growled against Anna's lips as she whispered, "My god, Anna. Do that once more, and I would take you again with no other thought for your regard."

"Then take me," Anna growled back, her fingers now scratching lightly against the skin of Elsa's back, from her shoulders to the very edges of those sensitive scars on her lower back. Elsa's entire body was displaced in a glorious shiver. "Take me, for I'm yours," Anna continued, as her fingertips then traced down Elsa's buttocks before cupping her backside and holding her close. Near savagely she kissed Elsa one more time, and then hoarsely whispered, "I need you to take me again. Please."

A rippling tide of most wanton ardour cascaded over the length of Elsa's body; with her feet she near roughly shoved Anna's legs further apart, both their limbs catching slightly upon the fresh sheets. Her hand went unerringly to that wild and divine place between Anna's legs, already slippery it was, the scent of her so appealing, the slickness so inviting!

"Don't let me hurt you," Elsa whispered, barely able to maintain her own sense of control, so overwrought she had become at Anna's body, and Anna's vulnerability. With some effort Elsa maintained her awareness; she had no desire at all to become like Anna's late husband, who had taken from her without giving in return.

"You have no power to hurt me," Anna replied, already thrusting herself upwards at Elsa once more. The softening of her previous inhibitions was so very welcoming, and Elsa's last resistance shattered.

With that, Elsa slightly curled two fingers and thrust them back inside Anna's core; Anna's entire lower back lifted from the bed as she accepted Elsa's questing hand, leaving Elsa to marvel in astonishment at the healing she had inspired, the steady fruit of her labour evident even here, even now; Anna's back had been broken once, her spirit had been broken, like a porcelain doll she had been, shattered upon the ground with tiny pieces of her scattered to the four winds!

Elsa's hand gloried in the tight feeling of her as she began to powerfully plunge inside Anna; nothing existed anymore save this, there was no past, there was no future, there was no tempestuous sea struck by a benevolent universe upon the prongs of orange lightning, no maelstrom now of time-confused soup, for her entire universe had once again distilled to this most precious type of connection. Anna's body opened even further to her as Elsa dove into her, her legs splayed in even more beauty and trust, and Elsa realized that the first orgasm had been necessary to 'break the seal', so to speak, to remind Anna that she was more than a noblewoman of Norway, more than a widowed Baroness, more than a once-paralyzed person; she was a woman, and a complete one at that, capable of expressing herself sexually. The long drought of Anna's abstinence and fear would finally end as she experienced true devotion with a loving partner.

And now that Anna had achieved one release, discovering that such glory was destined for her, this one would be different. This one would sear them together; wrap them in cords that would be near impossible to break.

Or so Elsa hoped, praying endlessly to her absent God as her eager and desperate fingers continued to delve deep inside Anna's center, twisting and turning now and again to access other parts of Anna's core, their breaths tumbling against each other, the fire in the hearth of Anna's bedchamber continuing to crackle and hiss and bathe them in waves of warmth, and, though Elsa wasn't sure she could orchestrate yet another release for her slightly older lover, she could feel Anna's body beginning to change once more.

Like a wave begins as a ripple in the depths of an unknown sea, so Anna's next orgasm seemed to begin deep inside her, gaining strength as it continued to rage towards the shore, and Elsa's thumb continued to circle and press against the taut bundle of nerves at Anna's pearl as she dared to slide another finger into Anna's beckoning body; Elsa's eyes were open wide to the firelit glory of this room, _seeing_ all of it, wishing she could just let Anna scream aloud her satisfaction yet knowing Anna would wish otherwise, so as Anna's body tightened, her muscles locking in anticipation of the culmination of this great wave, Elsa once again covered her mouth with her own, kissing her with every fibre of her being.

Several last deep thrusts, three of her fingers now embedded deeply inside her lover. One last press against Anna's engorged bud, before holding her slick thumb there, deep and insistent.

Stillness, for a heartbeat that gaped as open as Anna's willing body. Anna's mouth opened in a wide 'O' of surprise as her entire body went taut as a bowstring; Elsa knew just what to do next, what magnificent chord she could play upon Anna's beautiful body.

Daring greatly, Elsa hoarsely commanded, "Keep your mouth closed, Anna, don't make a sound." Anna whimpered some sort of reply even as Elsa's mouth closed upon Anna's nearest breast. She swirled the tip of it with her tongue and then bit down on it, just hard enough to cause a small jolt of discomfort, though hopefully not pain.

That did it. Anna's entire body bucked, her limbs flailing under the sheets, her neck extended. She nearly bent in half, rising towards Elsa before another wave hit her, sending her back against the pillow. A keening love-cry began to emerge from the depths of her closed mouth as her limbs jerked in the sheets; Elsa let go of Anna's breast so that she could grasp her neck and kiss her again, smothering those cries, wishing, oh wishing that they could have true privacy for this, this baring of Anna's wondrous soul in the throes of heavenly release.

For some time Anna trembled and vibrated underneath her, her body covered in a glorious sheen of sweat, her juices enveloping Elsa's curious hand. She began to settle, though her eyes were still closed, and her breath still leaped in fits and starts.

Elsa would not, could not stop. She had paused while witnessing Anna's second orgasm, experiencing it with her. Yet now, chasing intuition that elongated into the very depths of time, she once again thrust her hand deeply and fully into Anna's core, and swiped that enflamed bundle of nerves with her slick thumb.

Consumed with surprise, Anna's neck muscles went tight, and her eyes actually flew open, seeking Elsa's. "Elsa….?" she gasped. She seemed composed of naught but desire warring with surprise and disbelief, as if she didn't think she could come again so quickly.

Oh, yes, she was capable of this. Anna was now capable of everything. She was Elsa's audacious girl, and nothing would ever stop her again.

"Trust me," Elsa begged, relentless now, for she needed this as much as Anna did, she needed Anna to open herself completely to her, she needed Anna to gobble her up and consume her, and then, maybe then, the universe would somehow allow Elsa to stay! "I love you, Anna, I love you so goddamn much… Come for me, darling. Come again, I know you can…"

Elsa leaned down, and with her lips she parted Anna's mouth just as her hand completely parted Anna's core, all four fingers now thrusting inside her, persistent and heated and yearning, stretching her, unfolding her, and several minutes passed before her body once again stiffened in anticipation, and then Anna exploded again, just a short time from her last shocking orgasm, and Elsa felt the waves of it smash against her structures, disintegrating her last defences, rendering all her petty worries and fears mute, for there was no way now that this woman could disbelieve her truth, Anna was a part of her now, they would somehow exist together forever, no matter what would happen to Elsa's body and future.

Moments after these consecutive orgasms, Anna's eyes rolled slightly back and she went entirely loose in Elsa's arms. Her own heart racing, Elsa tried to calm herself as she slid once again to Anna's side, cradling Anna against her body. Knowing how awful it felt to disengage too quickly, Elsa kept the majority of her hand deep inside Anna's body, a comforting presence now, a soothing connection.

It wasn't only for Anna. Elsa needed it. Elsa needed to feel her, to be part of her, for as long as she would be permitted.

Anna's skin rippled in little shocks; they were beloved to behold. How powerful Elsa felt, to be the instrument of such joy, of such connection!

"Oh, my Anna," Elsa crooned. The beauty of her was so intense that Elsa's eyes filled with tears; those tears clouded her voice and made her simple words ache with splendour.

Anna continued to settle, her body achieving a stillness and peace that seemed to connect her with the very core of the earth. She took several long, deep breaths before her hands once again sought the comfort of Elsa's body. She finally opened her eyes, though she said no words, and she mutely reached for Elsa, pushing her back on the bed and before climbing on top of her. As she moved, Elsa finally disengaged from her, gently removing her hand from Anna's center. Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa and pillowed herself on Elsa's breast.

Then she took a deep breath, letting it out in a long contented sigh. For a long time they lay together, simply breathing, simply existing. Then Anna moved her hand, dragging it along Elsa's side until she touched and held one of Elsa's breasts.

Elsa waited for her to speak. Another long time passed before Anna finally lifted her head so she could look in Elsa's eyes. "I used to think myself broken, Elsa," she said, without preamble. "Less than human. I never enjoyed the sexual act. I… performed… out of duty alone. My children were kindled in sorrow and regret and sometimes even horror. I resigned myself to this life, never believing that it could be different for me."

She reached forward and softly kissed Elsa, so meek she was, so powerful! Then she stroked Elsa's cheek and continued, "Falling in love with you changed me. Your kisses astonished me. Because I found I wanted them. And, for the first time… I wanted more. Your hesitation confounded me, Elsa. I wanted you, I wanted this, and for a time you denied me…"

"I'm so sorry," Elsa whispered, as true sorrow built cobwebs in her throat. She had been so short-sighted, thinking only of herself and her fears, not knowing how Anna suffered! "Would you forgive me?"

"Yes, I forgive you. I love you. And to experience this… I'm not broken, am I?"

"No, honey. You're not broken. You've never been broken. You're whole. You're perfect. You've always been perfect. Accident and all."

Anna's hand felt so wonderful on Elsa's breast, her entire body cuddled so nice and close. Her eyes were so tender as she continued to look at Elsa. "I can't even describe how you make me feel, Elsa. I've never felt this contented and satisfied in my whole life. But…" and her cheeks turned slightly pink in her embarrassment, how bewitching! "Was there any satisfaction at all in this for you?"

"Are you kidding me?" Elsa teased. "To be the one inside you, the one to command your body, to know that, if you were to scream, it would only be my name? Anna, it was incredibly erotic to make love to you. I had to have more of you. I … I just couldn't stop."

"As I discovered," Anna dryly replied. "I'm a little sore, Elsa."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I wouldn't change a minute of it." She took another long, deep breath, and then said, "And as much as I wish we could continue, the real world is encroaching on us…" Her eyes sought out the clock, which showed that it was already nearly half past four. "Kate will be coming at five with tea…"

"How about I draw you a bath, then, my heart?" Elsa asked. "The hours will pass swiftly. Tonight we can resume our rather… intimate activities."

"Hold me a little while longer, first?" Anna meekly asked. "He… he used to take his pleasure from me, and then turn away from me or even retreat to his dressing room. I hated sex with him, but I hated being abandoned directly afterwards as well…"

Elsa's heart, already aching with Anna's admission that she hurt a bit following the love-making, lurched once more with sympathy for Anna's blighted past. She tightened her hold on Anna's body and wrapped one of her legs even more fully around her. "If I had my way, I would hold you forever, Anna," she whispered. "I would never let you go."

"So don't start now."

"No, love. I'm here."

"Thank all the gods." Anna's hands were wrapped around Elsa's torso; once again they drifted down where her fingers could stroke the confusion of scars above Elsa's pelvis. For a long time they simply breathed together, face to face, heart to heart, Anna's fingers rubbing and caressing Elsa's mess of scars. Elsa was overjoyed to have Anna accept this part of her, this apocalypse of mangled skin on her lower back. Anna even professed to like Elsa's tattoo.

To Elsa, it was evidence of her true past, the life she had lived before being sent back in time. Anna's acceptance of it gave Elsa another glimmer of hope, that Anna would accept all of Elsa's evidence. Some of her belongings from the future had been lost in the past twelve years, but enough of it remained, the guidebook being the most illuminating of all. How glad Elsa was that she had bought it on such a whim in Larvik so long ago!

But then her meandering thoughts were halted as Anna's hand continued to explore, stroking the length of Elsa's backside. Elsa's heart began to beat faster as Anna's curious hand then found the opening between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat as Anna used her conscious, miraculously working knee to open Elsa's legs wider, and then she used one hand to pull Elsa's leg higher upon her own, giving her greater access to this previously unknown place between Elsa's legs.

Then her hand went back to Elsa's core, seeking it beneath the sheets, seeking and finding. The moment her fingers touched and slid along Elsa's center, Elsa felt a jolt of electric desire cascade through her. "You're so wet," Anna whispered as her fingers slid back and forth along her opening. Anna's voice was so soft, so curious, like a kitten!

"Of course I'm wet," Elsa whispered back, her breath becoming short. "I'm very turned on, Anna. What are you –"

Elsa's next words could not be uttered, for Anna slid one of her fingers inside her. Arching her neck with the surprise and pleasure of it, Elsa gripped her lover slightly harder as Anna's finger moved around inside her. "You feel so nice," Anna whispered, a note of wonder in her voice. She pulled her finger out slightly before pushing it back in, and Elsa desperately wanted more.

She hadn't expected Anna to try to make love to her as well; yet now that Anna had initiated something, Elsa really wanted her to continue!

"Use two," Elsa urged. "Please?"

Anna smiled and, just like that, slid another finger into Elsa's sopping center. "Like this?" Anna asked, her voice filled with joy and cheekiness.

"Yes," Elsa panted.

Side by side they faced each other on the pillows. Anna beamed with satisfaction as she concentrated on exploring Elsa, her fingers pressing in and out, again and again. She was a bit clumsy, but Elsa didn't care; Anna's openness and curiosity were as much gifts as these glorious fingers inside her. Oh, how her lady had begun to discover her true self, to embrace these aspects of her true character; how brave she was, to do all this in the second half of her life and after experiencing such devastating losses! Elsa relaxed into this sensation, glad to see Anna exploring her, experiencing her. Elsa didn't need to climax in order to enjoy this. It was enough to remember Anna as she had first seen her, pain-ridden and suicidal that day in August, and know that Elsa's efforts had truly saved Anna's life.

All Elsa's toil, all her effort, all her aching exhausted sleepless nights in her attic bedroom at Iskall Slott bringing her to this very moment, this incredible connection with Anna Arendelle as her lover.

Anna Arendelle, the lady on the postcard. The noblewoman in the guidebook. Now Elsa's closest companion, dearest friend, and secret lover.

How had it all come to this?

What had the universe _seen?_

And then Anna somehow twisted her hand, to better access Elsa's core, and her thumb brushed against Elsa's pearl, and Elsa bucked a bit in the sheets. "So that's the trick, is it?" Anna teased, before immediately swiping at it again.

"Anna," Elsa moaned, temporarily unable to use English words. "Three?"

Anna smiled, leaned forward and kissed Elsa, just as she slipped another finger into Elsa's core. The fullness of it, it made Elsa feel so complete! "And will you come for me, my dear?" Anna asked a few moments later, nuzzling close to Elsa's cheek. "You gave. Now you can receive."

"Then don't stop, please don't stop," Elsa breathed. She could feel a familiar tightening deep in her pelvis; she closed her eyes and sent all her thought, all her concentration to those fingers thrusting so deeply inside her, she couldn't help but clench down on Anna, wanting her release now, wanting her climax, wanting this blessed connection with this amazing woman; her breath grew even shorter as Anna's hand continued to thrust inside her, her thumb pressing and then moving back and forth across Elsa's pearl.

Her eyes closed, she could only hear as Anna hoarsely whispered, "My god, Elsa, you are so beautiful. If only you could see yourself as I see you…"

Elsa opened her eyes enough to see Anna's face there, so very pleased she was, so very womanly and joyful! Elsa grasped Anna's neck and fastened her lips on Anna's, kissing her as deeply as she could, mirroring those fingers that continued to plunge back and forth inside her. They kissed again and again, and then they could kiss no more, for Elsa's body thrust itself down as she speared herself on Anna's questing fingers; for a miracle, Anna suddenly stopped moving and merely held herself so very deeply inside Elsa; one last feather light touch on Elsa's engorged pearl was all it took and Elsa felt her entire body displace, as vast and life changing as any earthquake; her orgasm seemed to explode outwards from her pelvis, sending her limbs in endless quivering spasms.

Black specks began to float before her eyes as her body continued to thrum and vibrate in this incredibly divine release; the connection she felt with Anna was so incredible, so powerful; yet Elsa felt a certain _greyness_ steal upon her muscles and bones in the aftermath of their love-making, and, with every fibre of her being, she forced consciousness upon herself, she couldn't pass out now!

The gauze she felt come upon her was incredibly thick and enormously enticing, beckoning to her as insidiously as any spider beckons a fly, and Elsa fought the faint, she fought the greyness, she focused all her attention upon Anna's fingers inside her, upon Anna's body entwined with her own; she flooded her beleaguered body with awareness, from the sheets upon her body to the sweat upon her brow, from the frenzied beat of her ancient heart to the concerned exhalation of her lover before her; and as Anna gently called out her name, she used that word as rope and anchor, fastening her to this moment, to this place and time.

Feeling woozy and a little sick as she recovered from her orgasm, Elsa finally opened her eyes.

Anna was there. Anna was everywhere.

And Elsa? She was nothing. She was nowhere.

"Darling?" Anna whispered, and her voice was coloured by this greyness; she had lived through the shades of night that existed on the other side of every tint of light, she had passed through similar darkness only to come out a victor, so surely she could be Elsa's guiding star now, she could be Elsa's magnetic North.

The grey subsided, beaten into submission by their conjoined suns. Elsa breathed carefully, her body still vibrating with incredible fulfillment and release.

Her eyes filled with tears, just as Anna's had. How could they love each other this much, and still be destined to part?

"Oh, my heart. Thank you," Elsa whispered, reaching out to touch Anna's cheek. "I… I had forgotten what it could be like."

"So that is what you felt when you made love to me?" Anna asked, as she slowly disengaged from Elsa. Elsa felt desolate and bereft when Anna removed her hand; she nearly asked Anna to just stay there, stay somehow inside her forever. Yet Anna clutched Elsa closely, even as she continued to speak. "I understand now. I'm a complete novice at this, Elsa, and still…" she reached out and took Elsa's nearest breast in her hand, and then rolled the tip of it between her fingers.

Elsa writhed as another, near intolerable burst of desire rocketed throughout her withering body. Elsa arched her neck back as Anna played with her, and through the slits of her eyes she could see Anna's joy, she could revel in Anna's desire.

"To know I can affect you so greatly," Anna continued. "It is… intoxicating. How will we ever leave this bed?"

"Good question," Elsa replied. "Do we really care for tea?"

"Tea will come," Anna answered, her face morphing into pensiveness. "And so will our other duties. This is real life, Elsa. We aren't children anymore." Her voice quivered a little on this last statement, and Elsa impulsively clutched her a little closer.

"No, we aren't children. But we needn't be slaves to society, either," Elsa replied. "We can choose, my heart, to stay here, to go elsewhere, to do whatever we wish."

"So little of my life has been by my choice," Anna mused. "You must abduct me, Elsa, and take me to your Canada, or your India, perhaps, and maybe then I can experience a life that I choose for myself. For when we return to Iskall Slott, I will become the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss. She is me. I am her. We are one. And we… we do not forget our duties. We did not choose this life, but this life is ours. My father taught me this. And… I learn my lessons. I learn them all."

Anna's voice became coloured with purple as she spoke, and Elsa sensed great heartbreak in her words.

So Elsa touched her, this woman she loved so dearly, caressing the skin that housed such invigorating fire, such renewed spirit. "And this is who I love. I love you, Anna Arendelle. I love you, Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss. And I will love you, no matter your name, no matter your station, no matter my status in your life. Can you feel this? You are no longer one person. You are me, and I am you, and together we will stay…"

Anna's eyes widened to hear Elsa's words, and then she reached for Elsa, kissing her, holding her close. "That's all I want," she said between kisses. "Elsa, please, my darling, my heart, won't you just _stay?_ Don't leave me, never leave me, _please… please don't leave…_ "

Elsa thought of her father, then. How his hands had been so very competent upon the steering wheel of the car. She thought of her younger brother, who just wouldn't laugh at her jokes. She thought of the whiteness of the blizzard outside the family SUV as they had made their way home. She hadn't been scared. Such was her father's way; he had always soothed her and comforted her.

This Elsa knew that some things just didn't stay. They had all been the children of her father's old age, and thus beloved and cherished.

Her mother, Idunn, had never remarried after her father's death. Her love for Agdar had been that complete. His passing had rendered her love mute; she had carried his legacy into the future, she had somehow survived without him, managing the farm, the horses, the finances, her unruly children who just left to go to India… all until orange lightning had struck a cruise ship and carried her beneath unforgiving waves in a far-off sea.

Even now Elsa wondered if her mother had somehow survived the accident. Did she live on, in some future that Elsa would never again experience? Or had she truly perished in this accident, this cataclysm between times and worlds?

Elsa would never know. Some things just could not be known.

Even her own fate, her own future.

So Elsa focused again upon her love, her Anna, the woman in the postcard, the woman in the guidebook.

For the now was enough.

The now had everything Elsa ever needed.

"Anna, my heart," she whispered, her heart breaking. "Please, don't ask this of me. I love you. I love you more than I can express with mere words, but I just cannot stay…."

Anna gently turned her head away; she closed her eyes and a single tear eked out to trickle down her cheek. "I'm trying to understand," she whispered. "I'm trying to tell myself that you have no choice, that it has nothing to do with me." She turned to look back at Elsa. The sheer agony in her eyes sliced through Elsa with near physical force. "But I find I'm selfish, Elsa. I know you must serve others. I know this is your gift, your purpose in life. But I want you with me. I want to keep you." More tears trickled, unchecked, down her face. "Am I diminished in your eyes?" she asked, echoing Elsa's own words of a few days ago. "You see what creature I have become?"

"No," Elsa cried, holding Anna closer. Her heart yearned to unburden her secrets, to pack them along Anna's healing body, to have her beloved one share the weight of them, but her mind shrieked at her.

 _You must wait! Do nothing to shatter her, not this close to Christmas!_

Elsa loved Anna. And she had no desire to make Anna into a mule, to mindlessly carry the heavy weight of all of Elsa's secrets. One she would tell, this very day or the next. The last, she would keep.

"You could never be diminished," Elsa continued, stroking Anna's naked back. She could feel her love quivering in her arms. "You are a Baroness, Anna. You say you cannot leave your duties, leave your title, abandon your responsibilities. Neither can I. Fate has brought us together, for a time. Beloved, couldn't this be enough? At least for now?"

"It must be enough," Anna sighed. "Did I think otherwise, I should surely go mad." She reached forward and kissed Elsa's soft lips. "You just called me beloved."

"For that is what you are. What you will always be."

"You are no less to me. Never forget it, Elsa."

"I won't."

…

They held each other in the sheets for a little while longer, unspeaking, barely moving. Then, by some unspoken agreement, Elsa rose, drew on a robe, and hastened to the bathing chamber. She swiftly sponged herself off, the water somewhat chilly, washing away the evidence of their love-making. Then she poured hotter water into the large tub, preparing it for Anna.

Elsa knew her place, her position in Anna's life, even if Anna herself would claim otherwise.

The clock was ticking, only ten minutes to five now, and they well knew how prompt Kate was. Elsa returned to Anna's bedchamber, and saw that Anna's eyes were softly wounded, changed they were, no longer the same eyes they had been several hours ago, for they had seen much, and experienced much. Their separate worlds had finally collided, and the dissipating energy of that collision could be seen upon their altered countenances, their softened features.

They had been in love with each other. But there was divinity in love-making, a celestial quality to this connection, that had changed them both forever. Elsa had only to look at her lover to see it. The stamp of it was so apparent on Anna's features that Elsa wondered if she bore the same mark; if so, how dared they appear in public? Wouldn't anyone with eyes be able to see them and their deepened regard for each other?

Even as she mentally asked the question, Elsa knew the answer. It would be no. People had lost the ability to _see._ Society had altered them, reduced their abilities to the barest quotient needed for everyday survival. They did not see the other world that co-existed with this one. Only when catastrophe beckoned, when personal towers were struck by lightning only to crumble, did people realize what had been there all along.

And these people, lightning-struck as Elsa could call them, if they saw she and Anna and knew their love, they would not judge at all. They could only celebrate that two souls had found such blessed communion.

For that was the nature of those struck by celestial lightning. It disintegrated them. It dissolved their inherent structures. From the rubble it enabled them to build anew.

Just as Elsa had been struck by lightning, and built anew.

And now? Now Elsa could truly _see._

And what she saw enchanted her, and made her believe in a benevolent universe.

What did she see?

Anna in the sheets.

Her beloved was curled within them, her body oriented towards Elsa, her face still streaked with tears yet filled with hope. Her hair was a messy cloud, how endearing! Elsa saw the peak of one breast shyly peeking out from the covers; it sagged with age and experience, yet Elsa easily remembered taking it in her mouth and worshipping it.

Anna lifted her arms and wordlessly begged for Elsa to lift her; Elsa did so, her mangled back screeching in distant agony as it always did these days whenever she had to lift Anna. Anna was completely naked in her arms as was Elsa herself; Elsa cradled her close as she carried her into the bathing chamber and carefully set her down amidst the sudsy warm water; Elsa remembered a similar bath from the day of Anna's worst pain, the day she thought she had lost Anna forever.

Yet Anna was hers. Now and forever.

She carefully set Anna in the tub. Her lady took a deep breath, hissing lightly in pleasure as Elsa settled her into the tub.

"I must greet Kate," Elsa whispered. "I'll come back as soon as I'm able."

"I'll be waiting," Anna replied.

Elsa could not just leave her. She knelt at the edge of the tub, took Anna's face in her hands, and kissed her again. As she kissed Anna, their lips moving so softly and tenderly against each other, she could taste a hint of salt and wondered just whose tears had slipped between them.

So Elsa finally rose, and she could not look behind her as she left the bathing chamber; did she so, she would be completely undone. She could easily picture Anna in her mind's eye, sitting with her knees tented in the tub, her head resting against the edge, her throat exposed, long red hair streaked with gray trailing down over the rim; as a nurse, Elsa had seen this many times. Should she see it this moment as a lover, she would not be able to resist going back to her and somehow taking her again.

Elsa swiftly went to her own room, drew on fresh undergarments and a simple day dress. Her eyes sought out and found her perpetually locked trunk; deep within it was a burlap sack, and in that sack was her North Face backpack and all the treasures therein. As she combed her hair and twisted it up on her head, she silently pled with all her gods and ancestors for guidance and wisdom, to share what needed to be shared, in the right time, in the right way.

No sooner had she finished dressing and fixing her hair than she heard the rattling of keys in the lock. "My lady?" Kate called out as she entered the room.

Elsa plastered a smile on her face and went out into the lounge. "Good afternoon, Kate," she said, with a nod for the maid.

"Good afternoon, Miss Wolff," Kate replied. She bustled in with the tray of tea; the steaming pot was accompanied by several scones, a small bowl of berries, and a pot of clotted cream. "You have some post," she continued, reaching into her apron to fetch two letters. Elsa took them without looking at them; surely they were both for Anna.

"Thank you, my dear," Elsa replied.

"And where will you dine this evening?" Kate asked.

"My lady is not well," Elsa easily lied. "Let us dine here in our chambers."

"Very good, Miss Wolff."

Kate bobbed her head one last time as she left the room, locking the door behind her. Elsa glanced down at the letters; a shiver of anticipation rushed through her as she noticed a letter addressed to her. She recognized the somewhat scrawling script of her Master's disciple in London. What did he want with her? She flipped to the second letter, and it was from Anna's daughter, Ingrid.

Conquering her desire to tear open her letter, Elsa left them both by the tray of tea on the table as she returned to the bathing chamber. She knocked on the closed door and heard Anna bid her enter. Elsa went in, closing the door again behind her; all it took was one glance and she knew she would never again be able to look at Anna as just a nurse. One glance, and she was aroused yet again by the sight of Anna's body, there in the foam.

Anna had started to wash herself, lifting one leg after another and swiping them with the cloth. Elsa strayed closer to her, staring at that expanse of leg. All thought of letters quickly faded, erased yet again by desire.

Anna cleared her throat and Elsa finally looked up at her face. "See something you like?" Anna asked, her voice regaining a hint of its earlier playfulness.

"Obviously, yes. Shall I wash your hair, Anna?"

"No, I think not." Anna looked at Elsa with a particularly strong gaze, and in her teal eyes Elsa could see the Baroness Skaldenfoss as well; she was thrilled to her bones to know that the Baroness also loved her, and desired her. "Take off your clothes, Elsa."

Elsa blinked in surprise, but she did as the Baroness asked. Feeling slightly shy, Elsa slipped out of her day dress, until she stood before her lady in her smallclothes. Those she also drew off, her skin pebbling now with the cold air. She set all her clothes aside and then stood there, feeling slightly nervous to be so exposed. It was one thing to be naked in the sheets, in the veiled dark of a bedchamber, and quite another to be exposed in bright electric light; she blushed as the Baroness continued to regard her with that strong appreciative gaze.

The precious moment elongated, for Anna Arendelle, the Dowager Baroness Skaldenfoss, was enchanted by what she saw before her.

Elsa's body had been touched by age, marred by experience, yet she was the most beautiful woman Anna had ever seen. Her eyes were soft and tender as she stood by the tub, her silvery-white hair slightly mussed in its braid from their love-making. In this day of Anna finally getting everything she wanted, she wanted one thing more, and would have it.

Anna had never bathed with a partner before. The idea had crossed her mind many times in the last month, especially when she and Elsa had been recuperating from their swim in the steamy pool in the cave. To have Elsa so close to her in the water, but be unable to touch her and hold her… Elsa was hers now, and Anna would get what she wanted.

"Come join me in the tub," Anna softly commanded, patting the surface of the water before her. "Please."

Elsa smiled and approached the tub. She put a hand on the edge and carefully climbed in, lowering herself into the water. She glanced over her shoulder to be sure not to knock into Anna's body as she settled in; Anna opened her legs wide to cradle Elsa between them. And then there she was, in the steaming water with Anna, emitting a similar hiss of appreciation for its heat and slickness.

Anna lifted her arms and said, "Come to me, my darling." With her hands she urged Elsa to lean back, until her head was pillowed on Anna's shoulder. Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa and then murmured, "Oh, this is nice." Elsa chuckled, low and dear, as Anna continued, "I just couldn't return to the real world so abruptly. Besides, I've dreamed of this."

"I have as well, love," Elsa replied, her hands roaming over Anna's skin, caressing the joints of Anna's knees. "How I love these small and simple things. A bath tub. Hot water. And Anna, my own, my love." She continued to run her hands down Anna's leg, bending Anna's knee slightly so she could take and massage Anna's foot.

A burst of pleasure, clean and pure, rocketed through Anna's frame as Elsa massaged her foot. But then Anna mastered herself, and she turned to Elsa's ear, so close to her, and said, "I don't need a therapist right now, Elsa. I just need you. Put my foot down, darling, and give me your lips."

Wordless, Elsa put down Anna's foot, and then slightly shifted in the tub so they could see each other.

Anna looked at her.

And Anna _saw_.

Their act of love-making had changed Elsa in subtle and minute ways; her countenance had softened, and the small worry lines she wore upon her forehead seemed eased. Yet a shadow remained, haunting her eyes, painting a dolorous colour on her cheeks; earlier she had admitted to lying to Anna, in order to protect her. Anna could see that lie on her face, even now. It clouded her, made her weak, made her small. There was nothing Elsa could say or do that would change how Anna felt about her; Anna yearned for the opportunity to prove her loyalty and her love.

Today was the day for making her dreams come true. She would find out the truth about Elsa, the book, and the lightning. More than a week ago, it had been, when Elsa had shivered in the sheets and spoken strange and astonishing words. Anna still remembered them; those words had been branded into her memory with the cherry-hot scorch of a poker; just like a lamb Anna had been seared with them, and she murmured them in the cavern of her mind like a mantra even now, as she had done a million times before…

 _The thunder, the waves, the lightning! Mom, no!_

 _The lightning is orange, don't let it take me again._

 _Anna, you're alive?_

 _Anna Arendelle died decades ago. In September of 1924, of sudden infection._

 _The book said you died, no one was there to save you._

Anna would discover the truth. Elsa would uncover her lie. Anna would forgive her for it. Then their lives could go on without this pall hanging over them.

But here and now? Anna would have this blessed experience first.

Anna lifted her hand from the warm embrace of the water and touched Elsa's chin, tilting her perfect face. Her other hand stroked Elsa's shoulder before dipping down into the water, down, down to the warm mound of Elsa's breast. She cupped Elsa's breast with her hand and lightly squeezed as her mouth descended on Elsa's, their lips connecting in a deep and lingering kiss.

And never in all her life had Anna believed that such intimacy was actually attainable; that she could feel her heart just expand and grow like this, that she could feel her soul on the very edge of her tongue as she ran it over Elsa's lips before dipping so exquisitely inside; she never believed that she would feel love like this, love that both scorched and rejuvenated her; that she could feel skin under one hand, pillowed and divine, and lips under her mouth; lips that moved and gave; a body that was simultaneously still yet coiled and expectant underneath her; Elsa melted in her arms, giving herself up so completely, and it was this unspoken surrender that caused such devotion and fire to _roar_ in Anna's heart; she drew her hand further down Elsa's body as she kissed her again; she felt Elsa gasp in her mouth, taking Anna's own gift of air and sustenance; the water so warm around them, embracing them in a primordial sea; and as Anna slowly devoured Elsa's lips her hand again travelled down to the very core of Elsa's being.

And as Anna cupped her there between her legs, she felt Elsa's breath tilt in her mouth, and a half-cry, half-gasp came from her lips. "Anna," she whispered, speaking Anna's name into the vastness of Anna's mouth, and it filled her, it invigorated her, it was like the very universe was acknowledging her, and speaking her true name.

One of Elsa's hands still clutched Anna's knee, near-submerged in the water. The other lifted and held Anna's neck, holding her in place as their kisses doubled in brilliance and intensity. Anna held Elsa's core in her hand as she continued a steady assault on Elsa's lips; how bold she felt, how daring! Elsa's willingness and submission combined with her need for Anna made such an intoxicating mixture that Anna wondered if she could ever tire of it. The bath was a perfect womb for lovers; Anna shifted slightly so she could dip her fingers back inside Elsa. Elsa suddenly broke away from her, her grip now taut on Anna's skin.

Lips only a hairs-breadth away from each other, Elsa whispered, "Oh…" Her voice was husky and rough.

"You are mine, Elsa," Anna whispered. "Your body is mine. Your soul is mine." Her other hand encircled Elsa's breast and squeezed. "Understand?"

"God, yes," Elsa breathed. "Anna, may I take you back into the bedroom? Please?"

"No," Anna replied. "You may not. We are having a bath, Elsa. There is no rush now. There is no hurry. There is time for all good things. And this, my darling, my beloved, is a very good thing." Anna didn't know exactly where her boldness came from; she only knew she had to prolong this experience, the first time she had ever bathed with a lover.

She felt Elsa curl her knees in the water as she spread her legs, giving Anna greater access to the core of her. There was energy and excitement in the water that Anna acknowledged but did not succumb to; all of Elsa's writhing, twisting energy Anna merely absorbed, continuing her steady and loving onslaught of her center. When words came to her mind, she spoke them without thinking, just as she had done the night of the aurora. "This is your body, Elsa. I feel it under my hands. It is glorious. It is divine. Look at your muscles, how they tremble. Look at your hands, how they clutch my skin. I love all of you, Elsa Wolff. I love your mouth. I love your heart. I love the mangled mess of scars upon your back, the space where you gave up a kidney for my son. And I most definitely love your soul." Her voice grew a bit thick as she continued, "And I will continue to love you for the rest of my life. No matter what happens to us."

Elsa's eyes were wide and childlike as she listened to Anna's words. A droplet of peace came between them. Then she whispered, "Please, kiss me again, Anna."

Every time Elsa asked something of her, Anna felt stronger, bolder, infinitely lovelier. This was no different. With one hand between Elsa's legs and the other holding Elsa's breast, Anna once more took Elsa's lips with her own, and though Elsa tried to ensnare her with excitement, with heat and deliverance, Anna resisted, forcing slowness and stillness upon them both, making her love a decadent, glorious thing; knowing that Elsa might not achieve release here in the bathwater, but that Elsa would feel loved; the extravagance of Anna's regard was what mattered most, this languor, this abundance; and finally Elsa began to relax under her, to share the sleekness of her own fingers upon Anna's skin, trailing up the inside of Anna's thigh.

When the kiss broke, Anna bowed her head to Elsa's wet shoulder, and kissed it as well. Then she stilled her fingers, there inside Elsa, and lifted her head to whisper, "I love you so much, Elsa. I speak these words, but they are inadequate to express how I feel towards you. You… you are like air. Like bread. Like water. I… to be honest, I don't know if I can live without you."

Elsa did not immediately reply. She had one hand on Anna's shoulder, the other under the joint of Anna's knee. She looked at Anna, her blue eyes soft and dewy, her face marred only by the shadow of her secret.

"You really feel this way towards me, don't you?" Elsa breathed.

"Yes."

Pause.

"I would like to give you my truth, Anna. My truth about a certain book. About lightning. About… what happened to me, and my family."

Anna's heart stuck in her throat. She moistened her lips as she replied, "I would gladly accept your truth, Elsa."

"Oh, how I hope you do," Elsa breathed. Suddenly vulnerable and small, Elsa twisted slightly in the bathwater, and Anna allowed her hand to trail away from her center. Elsa curled up against her, her knees tucked together, and rested her head over Anna's heart.

Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa and felt once again that roaring sense of protectiveness and might. Elsa trembled a little in her arms; why was she so nervous? Did she doubt Anna's regard? While Anna couldn't make heads or tails of Elsa's cryptic statements, there was nothing Elsa could say or do that could change Anna's affection.

The water was cooling, and Anna's back was beginning to ache. Regretfully, she finally whispered, "Let's go have tea, Elsa. And you can muster up whatever courage you need to tell me your truth." She kissed the top of Elsa's head.

"Must we go?" Elsa plaintively asked.

"Moments may wax and wane, my heart," Anna said. "But our love is eternal." Another cramp delved into her lower back, and Anna tried to control her wince.

Elsa lifted her head. "Anna?" she asked. "Is it your back?"

"Yes," Anna admitted. "But no fretting. Not on a day where all my wishes come true."

Elsa flashed her a quick smile in acknowledgment of Anna's sentiment, but her face was a study of misgiving and even fear. She rose from the tub, slicking the water away from her body with practiced movements of her hands and wrists. She gingerly stepped out and quickly dried herself off with a nearby towel. Anna's eyes still hadn't had enough of her; she yet devoured the sight of Elsa's naked body, hidden to her all these weeks.

Then Elsa turned to Anna, arms outstretched, ready to lift her and take her to her room.

Anna, gifted with the ability to _see_ , this day above all others, saw something she just could not understand.

And the sight of it caused fresh misgiving to prick like thorns in her heart.

"Elsa?" Anna asked.

"Yes, love?"

"Why are you so scared?"

...

A/N: Dear readers. I have a small request. Life has become difficult again. This story means a great deal to me. I ask, if the story means something to you, please give me a review or send me a PM. It will help me persevere through the tough times.

See you soon, for Chapter 25: The Book, The Sea, and The Lightning


	26. Ch 25 Book, Sea, and Lightning

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

 **The Book, The Sea, and the Lightning**

 _Elsa? Why are you so scared?_

Elsa looked at Anna, sitting there in the tub, and thought of Cati. The young Irish maid had been naïve, in a sense, and innocent as well, despite the Great War. Elsa hadn't given her this truth until they were back at the monastery, and she could show her the artefacts she had brought from her displacement through time.

Cati had instantly accepted every bit of it. She had been voracious in asking questions about the future, about Elsa's life and the state of society. Knowing that Cati would eventually die of consumption, taking this knowledge to the grave with her, Elsa had been quite frank. It had been a successful second revelation, for Elsa had shared her story with her Master before the war. Elsa's Master had also accepted her truth with equanimity. However, he had asked very few questions, for he believed in the perfection of imperfect things, and had an inherent sense of trust in how things would work out.

Anna Arendelle, Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss, was clever, sharp, extremely well-educated, and no one's fool. Refined and elegant, yet still given to bursts of impiety and impishness, Anna was the most complex human Elsa had ever encountered in her life. Elsa would tell her story of the book, the sea, and the lightning, but how much else could she share? How would Anna's knowledge of the future change the future? Could she, dare she, answer every question Anna had? What consequences could arise? The future was built on the foundation of the past – with this revelation, just how much would those foundations tremble?

"Elsa?" Anna called, bringing her out of her reverie.

Elsa saw her, sitting there in the tub, and remembered the feel of her against Elsa's skin, felt her within Elsa's own body; in looking at Anna, Elsa realized her fear. So much more than childhood darknesses, than real-life tragedies…

Elsa saw the lady from the postcard and knew the truth.

To love this woman so deeply, so feel so intimately connected to her through shared experience and shared lovemaking, the thought of losing this connection was more than Elsa could bear. Anna was her air, her bread, her water. She trusted Anna, she trusted their love, but, this very moment, she didn't trust it enough. And she hated herself for it.

"My fear now is the same as it's been since the moment I met you," Elsa whispered. "I'm scared of losing you. Anna, if my truth is too much for you to bear…"

"Elsa. I am so strong and powerful I could bear the weight of the entire universe and everything in it. Including this truth you hold. It is heavy for you. It weighs you down. Share it with me and we'll shoulder the burden of it together."

Elsa flashed Anna a quick smile for her vehement words, though that did nothing to combat the deep misgiving that yet resided in her heart. "Yes, it is a burden, and I will share it with you. Only…"

"Only nothing. Everything will be all right," Anna said. "Now, shall we go have tea? I'll wait for you to get dressed again." She waved an imperious hand at Elsa as an invitation for her to dress herself.

Elsa dropped the towel, very aware of Anna's keen and hot eyes on her as she drew on the clothes she had cast aside before their shared bath. In other circumstances, Elsa would have tried to be playful, to tease and titillate, but her heart was too full, too heavy. She reached behind her back to fasten her dress and felt a deep and painful twinge from her beleaguered lower back. Schooling her features, hiding the pain as was her wont, Elsa finished dressing and then looked back at Anna.

Anna nodded and began to stand from the tub, and Elsa quickly hurried over to help stabilize her before she could slip and fall. She was about to pick Anna up and carry her when she thought of that deep twinge in her back.

"Can you walk, my dear?" Elsa asked. "I'll hold your arm. It's just… my back is a little sore."

"I'll gladly walk on your arm," Anna replied before she reached over to quickly kiss Elsa on the lips. "And thank you for telling me the truth."

"You, above all others, deserve no less." Elsa wrapped a towel around Anna's body and then they walked into Anna's bedchamber. The wonder of Anna being able to walk hadn't subsided; Elsa could still scarcely believe how much change Anna had wrought in her life. Their early work at the resort had finally snowballed, allowing Anna to first stand, then walk, and then waltz.

Quiet and subdued, Elsa helped Anna completely dry off before assisting her with donning a simple dress for their evening at home. Anna's gaze remained strong and fierce as Elsa dressed her. Elsa combed and then plaited Anna's hair into a simple braid. Then Elsa walked with her into the lounge and helped her get seated on the couch. The fire was low; Elsa added some wood and poked it for a bit, getting it nice and hot. Then she brought over the tea service and poured them both a cuppa.

Anna had the eyes of an eagle as they sat down to enjoy their quite tepid tea; Elsa gave her the mug and handed her the letter from Ingrid, barely able to withstand the fierceness of Anna's gaze. Those sharp eyes didn't seem to miss anything; Elsa ripped open her letter even as Anna asked, "May I ask who wrote you?"

"It's from my new Master, the man who took over at the monastery when my old Master went to London," Elsa replied, ripping open the envelope to draw forth the flimsy paper. God, there had been times in her life when she had absolutely hated email, but now she would give her good right arm for one minute of access to the Internet again. "And yours? You haven't heard from your daughter in a while…"

"Several weeks, in fact. I was beginning to think she had forgotten about me," Anna replied as she opened her own letter.

They read their post in respective silence, as the flames in the hearth before them crackled and hissed. Elsa sat next to Anna, her free hand upon the blanket over Anna's thigh, now as always taking comfort from Anna's proximity.

She needed that comfort, as the letter was somewhat unsettling. Short it was, and the monk had penned it in direct strokes that she remembered from their time together in the monastery those years before the war. While it was nice to hear from him again, especially after he had sent her the ginger she had needed a few weeks ago, the contents of the letter were disturbing. After reading it twice, Elsa stared into the crackling orange flames of the fire, her mind roaring with suppositions and worry.

"Bad news, Elsa?" Anna asked, and Elsa looked over. "It's just… you're making a face." A measure of old fear stole across Anna's features as she continued, "He… he's not… he can't order you back, can he? Please don't leave me, Elsa. Don't go back to India."

Elsa squeezed Anna's thigh. "Hush, my heart. I'm not going anywhere. He merely asks if I can take an apprentice."

"An apprentice?"

"Yes. There is a very talented young monk who has shown incredible aptitude for the healing arts and has asked for further education in this regard. Last year, my Master sent him to London, where he served with my old Master at the hospital there. I even met him briefly when I was there in October. My Master asks that I take him as my apprentice, to teach him as much as I can. I do have some rather unique talents and uncommon knowledge and skills."

"You mean to let a complete stranger into our life, Elsa? Into our bubble? And a young man, no less?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On what we decide together. I wouldn't make a decision of this magnitude without you."

Anna sighed and suddenly burrowed close to Elsa. "I should say yes, and immediately. Your talents are incredible. Your skills uncanny. The whole world should learn at your feet. But."

"What is it, my heart?" Elsa asked as she took and held Anna's hand.

"I've said it before, Elsa. I'm selfish. Now that I have you, I don't want to share you."

"Can we sleep on it, darling? We don't have to decide anything right now."

"All right."

"What about Ingrid?"

"Bad news, I'm afraid," Anna replied. "Her husband, Tomas, has contracted some sort of illness of the blood and has been prohibited from travelling. They had intended to come to Iskall Slott for Christmas, but are now unable. She asks that I come to Oslo to visit her as soon as Christmas is done."

"And will you? I mean, we?"

Anna lifted her head and flashed Elsa a quick smile. "I don't know. I remember coming here, Elsa. I could barely withstand the journey. It might be more than enough just to get back to Iskall Slott. I might not be able to go back and forth."

"I certainly don't want to push you beyond your limits, and risk losing our ground," Elsa mused. "But we won't know anything until we reach Iskall Slott once more. Do any of them know the real truth of the progress you've made?"

"No. It will be a shock for all of them, to see me get up from my wheelchair to dance with Johan on Christmas Eve."

"I'll be there with the smelling salts to revive anyone who faints."

"We're both being rather glib right now, but I'm beginning to really wonder if it's still possible. I danced today, Elsa. We danced together. It was in the water, but still…"

"Yes, we did. And it was amazing. You love dancing, don't you?"

"Yes. I always have. It makes me… affectionate."

"I noticed." Elsa's voice, rather dry, made Anna chuckle. Anna reached up to grasp Elsa's face between her warm hands and she kissed her. As the kiss ended, she held her cheek close to Elsa's as she whispered, "Just over a week ago, it was, when I discovered I had fallen in love with you. You shivered to sleep in my arms. You said things I could not comprehend." She pulled back far enough to look at Elsa in the eyes. "Now we have experienced each other as lovers, I have finally seen your tattoo and your scars, and yet there is at least one thing more you must share with me. I know you're scared. But… it's time, Elsa."

Elsa's heart began to pound, and a thin headache that had been building for the last while grew in strength.

"I know," Elsa murmured. "Let me tiptoe into this truth, my heart. Tell me again, what do you remember of that night you came to my bed to comfort me? What did I say to you?"

Anna didn't hesitate before answering, "First, you were speaking to Cati, telling her that you dreamed of me, you dreamed of loving me, but that there was so little time."

"That's when you asked me to stay with you," Elsa said, shifting in her seat so she could face Anna and see her whole expression. It also eased her aching lower back.

"Yes. I asked you to stay with me forever. It was that very moment, when you had fallen asleep in my arms, that I realized I had fallen head over heels in love with you."

Warmth flooded Elsa's chest at Anna's frank words. It had been only eight days ago, but their universes had changed so much in that slim time span! "And then?" Elsa prompted.

"You began to have a nightmare, thrashing about in the sheets. You cried out about thunder, and waves, and lightning. You… you shrieked for your mom." Anna's face was filled with concern. "But you weren't with her when she died. You said you received word of the shipwreck that took your family's lives. You were travelling to Oslo from India, and heard about their accident."

"I lied about that," Elsa said, her heart thumping in her chest. "Anna, I'm so sorry. But you needed a story, so I gave you an edited one."

"But you will unedit it right now, won't you?" Anna replied, her voice hard. Elsa could hear the Baroness in the tone of her words. "You will tell me the truth, yes?"

"Yes," Elsa replied, thinking of how Idunn had vanished under the waves, their hands ripped apart by volatile currents. "What happened next that night, Anna?"

Anna looked at her for a moment or two before continuing. "I wanted to calm you, so I told you that you were dreaming. You said that this was no dream. You said…" and Anna's voice got thick with emotion as she continued, "You said that you were dying, that your world was ending. I disagreed with you, telling you that I was here with you. And then you said something so strange…"

"I told you that you had died, didn't I?" Elsa said, her voice thick. "I said something about a book."

"Yes, you did. Elsa…"

"Did I mention orange lightning?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Didn't your son once speak about orange lightning, Anna? Leif… he saw things in that storm that you did not."

Anna went completely still as she pondered Elsa's question. Her eyes gradually widened, and she slowly said, "Yes. He did. In November of 1912, when we watched the storm together. I told you of it. Elsa, what…?"

"There are three parts to my truth, Anna. There is a book. There is a sea. And there is lightning."

"Who else know this truth?"

"Only two others. Cati, and my old Master."

"Your new Master does not?"

"Not to my knowledge. Though, sometimes, as with this letter, I wonder."

"Do you still have this book? With you, right here, right now?"

"Yes."

"The book that said I died?"

"Yes."

"Go get it, please."

Anna shifted uncomfortably in her seat as Elsa rose. She saw Elsa's hand tremble as she set down the cup of now unpalatable tea. Anna's heart was lubbing thick and hard in her chest; she was finally going to have the answers she so desired. She adored Elsa, but Elsa's tendency to keep secrets was incredibly infuriating. They were lovers now, having transcended the bonds of lady and servant, and Anna dearly wanted to experience the rest of Elsa's universe.

No matter what demons or truths may arise.

She heard Elsa rummaging in her trunk, and then other, unfamiliar sounds. As she waited, Anna sent a quick and heartfelt prayer into the waiting bosom of the universe that she would be able to accept Elsa's truth, whatever it might be. She wouldn't be a lower creature than Catriona, or Elsa's departed Master.

Elsa's step was slow and forlorn as she came back into the lounge a few minutes later. She was carrying a very strange bag in her hands; Anna had never seen anything like it. Anna ripped her eyes away from the bag so she could see Elsa's face, and she was saddened to see an expression of hopelessness and even fear so plainly displayed therein.

As much as she wanted to comfort the woman she loved, Anna's eyes again went to the bizarre bag Elsa held. Elsa sat down next to her and put this bag on Anna's blanket-covered lap. "Please, Anna, you may look at everything in this backpack. And you may ask any question you wish. I will answer with truth, even… even if I think it will hurt you."

Anna was still awestruck by the bag… backpack itself. It was made of a black canvas-like material she had never seen before, yet it was travel-stained and incredibly worn. Two wide straps connected the top to the bottom, and another strap with an incredibly odd device made of some unknown material connected these two straps with each other. Anna lifted the bag and felt its heft; there were certainly some objects inside, such as the book Elsa had mentioned. She turned it over and looked at the front once more, reading a blocky script that said, 'North Face', curiosity warring with utmost misgiving; what was this, and where had it come from?

"In the bag?" Anna asked as she looked for buttons or laces in vain. "How do I get in?"

"You open the zipper. Like this," and Elsa took her hands, put them on a strange little tab, and started to pull. The zigzag pattern stitched into the fabric somehow opened like teeth as Anna pulled. Elsa retreated, letting Anna do the rest on her own. Astounded, Anna pulled the tab back and forth a few times before opening it all the way. The bag opened like an unknown and endless sea before her.

 _The thunder! Oh, the waves, the lightning!_

Yet amidst the storm of confusion that had suddenly erupted in her heart, Anna remained aware of Elsa, mindful of how carefully Elsa sat again on the couch, cognizant of the resignation and fear still plainly written on her face.

 _You may look at everything, and ask every question._

Anna pulled out the item that was at the top of the open bag.

It was some sort of scarf or shawl, and somehow some of the threads of the scarf looked metallic or shiny. It was cream-coloured, and very soft. As she lifted it out of the bag and turned it over in her hands, she noticed a small tag at one end of it. Anna looked at the tag, reading out, "Calvin Klein." She looked up and into Elsa's face.

"That's my Denver airport scarf," Elsa cryptically replied. "A lady dropped it once while she ran through the airport to catch her flight. I picked it up, couldn't return it to her, so I kept it. Normally I wouldn't have been able to afford anything like it. Not with a name like Calvin Klein. Keep going. There's much more."

Anna set this… Denver airport scarf aside. Airfields, she knew. But airports? And Denver… the name sounded vaguely familiar from some of her sister's earlier accounts of life in the United States. It was some burgeoning city in the West, near the mountains, if Anna recalled correctly. Wild, uncouth, mired in protests now concerning prohibition, if Anna remembered Hans' accounts correctly…

A deep misgiving began to prick her in the chest, like a poisoned thorn. She didn't understand this bag, nor the zipper, nor any of the words Elsa had used to describe this scarf. Did Calvin Klein mean something? What was happening?

"Go on," Elsa urged, actually taking the scarf and lifting it to her nose so she could inhale. At Anna's quizzical expression, she replied, "Cati loved this scarf. She would wear it during cold mountain nights. I was just trying to see if there was anything of her left in it."

"And?"

"There's not." Elsa's voice cracked as she spoke, and Anna's heart bled in equal parts of compassion and jealousy. "It only smells musty, like anything kept hidden throughout the years." She sighed as she leaned back against the couch, tendrils of her white hair caressing her neck and throat. "Don't mind me. This is difficult. Go on, my heart."

Anna saw a wooden box next, and she drew it out of this North Face bag. It was fastened shut with a simple knot of string. "You may open it," Elsa urged. Anna tugged on the knots and pulled away the string. Then she stared at the box itself. It was oblong, about the size from her wrist to her fingertips, with a hinge that allowed it to open to the top. It seemed somewhat cheap, though the face of it was carved. The carving… it looked mechanical. As if a machine had done it. But that was impossible. Machines could not do such things.

Her mind went blank as she stared at the carving on the face of the box. It portrayed a castle on a hill, and a bridge with ornate statues lining the sides. Other buildings and spires were somehow carved within it. In the corner was written, 'Praha'. One word was her only clue.

"Praha," Anna whispered as her fingers traced the carvings. "Is it Prague, Elsa?"

"Yes."

"When were you in Czechoslovakia? You were young, I think you said."

"I was in the Czech Republic, actually. I was 24 years old. But go on, open the box. See what's inside."

Anna paused, and looked right at Elsa. "Elsa. All of Bohemia was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire until 1918 and the war. After the war, the First Republic appeared, with president Tomas Garrigue Masaryk. He was elected in 1920 and serves even now. How could you have been there near thirty years ago? Were you there during the Czech National Revival? They… I believe they were starting to rebel and assert their own individuality."

"I should have known that you would know your history," Elsa replied, her voice breaking in misery. "You could probably tell me the names of every Queen of Denmark. Open the box, Anna. I cannot bear this."

"The current Queen of Denmark is Alexandrine, wife of King Christian," Anna replied, her voice a little nebulous in her confusion. Of course she knew all the intimate details of the politics of Europe! "I met her in Copenhagen, just before the war. Hans had been summoned to Oslo, to attend on King Haakon's entourage, and then we went together to Denmark, to dance attendance on the King's extended family from Denmark. We spoke together, that night, of what to do in case of war against Germany, we discussed the neutrality that Norway eventually used…"

"Did you have any idea of what really was to come?" Elsa asked.

With some effort, Anna wrestled her concentration upon Elsa's question, and tried to provide an honest answer. "No. How could we? We were not without our troubles, our tenants who could not pay the rent, our fisherman who could not haul in the shoals of fish we required… My children seemed so young that night, Elsa. And I had faith in mankind. I went to the court in Copenhagen still childish, still naïve, believing that my own meagre efforts could have some sort of impact on the world. I have since learned my folly. The Great War taught me my folly."

"It is not folly," Elsa growled, her blue eyes suddenly sharp, and dangerous. "The universe needs you, Anna. And everything you have experienced has created the very weapon the world needs. To fight for its future. For without you, the future will fail."

"But we already fought, Elsa," Anna replied, trying to keep up with her love's cryptic comments. "And… although many say that we won that war, I wonder… if we somehow lost." She thought of her own son, and whispered, "My family certainly lost. Just as you did."

"The Great War," Elsa said, her voice nebulous. "You called it a war to end all wars. But it was not the end, Anna. Oh, god, honey. You cannot believe…" and her voice trailed off.

"What do you mean?"

"Please. Look in the box. I need you to keep looking."

Shaken by her lover's trembling voice, Anna finally opened the little wooden box. Inside she found a small assortment of somewhat inexpensive jewellery. She picked up a pendant on a cheap black string first, and Elsa murmured, "I bought that necklace in Waterton, in a souvenir shop among the Canadian Rockies."

"Waterton?" Anna echoed.

"A national park, my heart. Mountains. Waterfalls. Green trails among hidden valleys. We grew up next to these mountains, and went there often. Actual camping. In tents. We were not scared of the bears, though others were."

"Tents," Anna echoed. Her poor brain couldn't keep up with all the information it was receiving, neither in physical nor in oral form. "You mean those awful nomadic structures of hides? Such as Mongolian herders are wont to use?"

"No. Ours were Nylon. Waterproof. Anna…"

"Keep looking, right?"

"Yes. Please."

Bemused, Anna rummaged through the wooden box, turning up strange earrings and bracelets and rings, all of them seemingly inexpensive, some quite tarnished by time. Yet, at the bottom of the box, she found something distinctly odd.

Coins. Different shapes, sizes. She picked up one of them; it was large, silver on the outside, and gold on the inside. A bear was stamped in the golden center. The country of origin was Canada.

Then Anna saw the date stamped on the coin.

It was 2005.

 _No! Impossible!_

She turned it over in her hands and ran her fingers over the lightly embossed date once more. Aloud, she whispered, "2005." Then she closed her eyes for a moment as a most impossible idea bubbled up from the depths of her mind.

 _No. It cannot be. Elsa cannot be from…_

Anna opened her eyes again and looked at Elsa, whose eyes were reddened, whose entire aspect was lost and bleating, like a lamb.

"Where is the book?" Anna asked.

Elsa reached into the bag and pulled out the next item, which was a cloth bag with a simple drawstring. "Here it is," she said, putting it on Anna's lap. Anna set the coin back into the jewellery box and then handed the box over to Elsa. Then she took the cloth bag and felt the oblong shape of a book inside. "Why the cloth bag?"

"To protect the book. It is perhaps my most valuable possession. As you will see."

Anna opened the bag and drew out the book.

She'd never seen anything like it. The cover was made of some sort of thickened paper, and was glossy and printed in vivid colours. The scene on the cover was familiar, yet not at the same time; it showed Larvik, but a Larvik she could never have imagined. Her eyes went up to Iskall Slott, there on the hill above the village, and her heart plummeted with sudden anxiety. Her home looked shabby, ill-kept. Nearly ruinous. Her eyes sought the title, and she read, in English, 'Guidebook to County Vestfold'.

Her previous misgiving began to be replaced by actual fright. Anna saw a bookmarker of some sort part-way through the book, so she opened it to that page; easily enough even without the bookmarker, for the spine of the book had been broken here. Why had Elsa come to this part of the book again and again, so that the spine had been broken?

Before she could look at what was written there, she gasped as she saw the bookmarker. It was a postcard, sepia-tinted, depicting she and Hans. She knew this particular picture well; a court photographer had brought his apparatus out to the castle in 1914. He had taken the picture of Anna's family that she kept with herself at all times, the same picture Leif had shown Elsa in the hospital tents. He had also taken this picture, among a few others, in the library of Iskall Slott. Anna was seated on a chair, and Hans stood behind her. They were both in formal clothing. Anna ignored the representation of her dead husband and looked at herself.

She could see ancient sadness in her eyes. She had fought with Hans that very morning, about the new tax her husband had wanted to introduce to their tenants. Both he and his father had made some rather disastrous investments, and Hans had been searching for any means possible to get more money into the estate. Anna had tried to counter him, but she had eventually failed. Sentiments towards the Barony Skaldenfoss had been quite awful until the outbreak of war. Anna's secret soup kitchen had done much to revive the relations between the noble family and the people they served.

How did Elsa come to have this picture, and why was it for sale as a postcard? "How do you have this, Elsa?" she asked.

"I bought it at a shop in Larvik, where I also found the guidebook," Elsa shakily replied. "There were many postcards to choose from, but this one… this one compelled me. I saw you on the postcard and knew I had to have it. You… enraptured me." Elsa shuffled even closer to Anna, and put her hand on Anna's leg. "Read, my darling. Read from this chapter of the book, and then you will understand."

Anna tucked the postcard under the book and then began to read aloud from the bold printing at the start of this particular chapter, "Castle Iskall Slott and the Fall of Barony Skaldenfoss." Her senses swimming, Anna paused to take a deep, fortifying breath, and then continued, "In previous chapters we read about the Arendelle family and the rife mismanagement of the Barony Skaldenfoss. With the intervention of Lady Anna, the Baroness, things were on the mend. However, disaster would once again strike this particular family, altering their fortunes forever.

"Hans Arendelle, Baron of Skaldenfoss, died in a train accident on January 4, 1924. His wife, Lady Skaldenfoss, had suffered devastating injuries in the same wreck; a broken back, broken legs, and a broken skull. Injuries so severe that it proved she could not survive them.

"Anna Arendelle, Dowager Baroness of Skaldenfoss, passed away of sudden infection nine months after the accident that had taken the life of her husband. She died on September 30, 1924…" Anna abruptly stopped reading. A sob of immeasurable grief created a boulder in her throat, and she closed her eyes. Desperate, she blindly reached out for Elsa and felt Elsa take her hand.

Today was December 9. And she was alive. She hadn't died.

But then Anna thought of what date was written in the book. September 30 was the day of her greatest pain, when Elsa had barely left her side. _"I will not lose you today,"_ Elsa had whispered while working with Anna that day. _"I will not lose you, Lady Skaldenfoss. You are mine, you hear me? You are mine."_

The night of the great shiver, when Elsa had clutched at her after the nightmare. _"You're alive?_ " she had gasped.

Even with her eyes closed, Anna felt her world spin around her. She clutched at Elsa's hand with even greater force and put her other hand over her face. Head bowed, shoulders shaking, Anna felt that spinning world wobble first one way, then another, before falling off its axis and breaking into pieces like an eggshell.

The world as she knew it would never be the same.

Her world… had fallen.

"Take a deep breath, Anna," Elsa said, using the firm voice of the therapist. "In through your nose, and out through your mouth."

Anna did as she was told, though her breath caught a bit on that boulder in her throat. She took several more deep breaths before she felt able to open her eyes.

Elsa still held her hand so tenderly, so cautiously. The firelight painted her in warm hues.

But Elsa didn't seem real anymore. The lover she had experienced just hours ago… she was a phantom, a ghost, as ephemeral as stardust, and as loose as dandelion fuzz. If Anna blew on her, Elsa would disintegrate.

Of all the questions that flashed like fireflies in Anna's mind, this one had to come first.

"What year were you born, Elsa?"

Elsa took a deep breath. "1986."

Anna blinked as she looked at Elsa. The date Elsa mentioned was slipping right off the edge of Anna's consciousness, and she held on to the rim of this date with grasping mental fingers. She wanted to take it, stuff it in her mouth, and swallow it. Even if it was impossible. Even if it just couldn't be.

But then anger appeared, and the date slipped out of her fingers and crashed onto desecrated ground, where it shattered into a thousand glittery-edged pieces. Each piece was sharpened by one of Elsa's many lies.

Anna felt wounded by those edges. Pain and fury gripped her heart and she nearly pulled her hand out of Elsa's grip.

Trying desperately to lean into her confusion and discomfort, Anna nevertheless asked, "Have you ever told me the truth, Elsa?"

The words were a slap to Elsa's face; her cheeks reddened and she saw Elsa reel from the thin and sharp force of them.

A higher part of Anna's mind whispered, _You're failing the test you promised you wouldn't fail, Anna…_

"Yes and no," Elsa bravely replied. "Everything from 1912 to now, mostly yes. Everything before then, mostly no."

It was too much. Anna pulled her hand out of Elsa's grasp. She looked at the fire for a moment, and then down at the strange items littering her lap, and then she covered her face with both of her hands and bowed her head.

Anna wanted to scream. She wanted to weep. She wanted to lash out.

Elsa could not really be from the future. It was impossible. Against all laws of science and physics.

Against all laws of God and the universe, as well. Wasn't it?

"Baby?" she heard Elsa tentatively ask.

"Give me a moment, please."

The book on her lap. It was heavy. Anna had glimpsed something about Johan next, and she still didn't know what it meant by the fall of Barony Skaldenfoss. This was evidence. It had heft, it had presence. Elsa could not have created these things. They were artefacts, weren't they? Artefacts from an unknown culture. Did it matter that it was a culture that hadn't yet occurred?

Head bowed, eyes covered, breath laboured, Anna wrestled with this awesome impossible truth. Her agile mind brought other evidence before her, stretching back to their very first days together.

Elsa had called Constantinople by another name on their first day together. And again, just a few hours ago, when Anna had finally been permitted to see Elsa's naked body, including her tattoo and her scars. The tattoo itself; women of Anna's time simply did not have them. But perhaps it was commonplace in the… oh god… the early twenty-first century.

Then Elsa had given her massages, on a table that Anna had never imagined could exist. Spinal adjustments, aromatherapy, her odd turns of phrase and purported slang, and then the words that had slipped from her mouth the night she had been doused with laudanum.

 _Anna Arendelle died decades ago, of infection…_

But Anna hadn't died. Because Elsa had come to her. Elsa had saved her life.

If Elsa hadn't come to her, Anna would have died. Her fate would have been as that written in the guidebook. Whether by suicide or by infection, her life would have ended, one way or another.

But Elsa came. Elsa was from the future, yet she had come to Anna Arendelle.

God, Anna had once called her on it! _Where do you even come from?_ Anna had asked, when Elsa had given her a theory about nightmares being a way of shedding mental toxin.

 _Maybe I come from the future,_ Elsa had cryptically replied, _where such ideas are commonplace._

At the time Anna had been exasperated, and frustrated that Elsa wouldn't tell her the truth. Maybe she actually had.

Could it really be true? Where else would these things have come from? Anna could touch them, look at them, behold the strangeness of them. The wooden box, the coins, the tag on the scarf, the very bag itself with its… had Elsa called it a zipper?

Elsa's knowledge; from the very beginning Anna had called it uncanny. She knew things, did things that were so strange.

Anna finally knew why.

If Elsa really were from the future, then she knew other things. She knew about world events. She knew what would happen to Anna and her family.

Wait.

The book had been rather explicit about when and how Hans had died.

Which meant that Elsa had known about the accident itself.

Anna lifted her head and carefully took her hands away from her face. Sitting painfully erect, she turned and looked at the woman sitting next to her. Elsa Wolff's face was very pale, very scared.

"You knew about my accident. You knew what would happen to me."

"Darling, I did."

"I lost my husband. I suffered for eight months."

"Yes, you did." Tears began to slip from Elsa's eyes.

Anna had to look away again. Elsa had known, yet she hadn't stopped it. She could have stopped it, she could have saved Anna, couldn't she have?

"Oh, Anna," she heard Elsa whisper. "Darling, forgive me. I was with my Master in London that very day, the day of your accident. I meditated for hours, agonizing over our decision not to save you. Though he advised me to let it occur, the final choice was mine. And I chose, Anna. Maybe I could have prevented the train wreck. But… I didn't. I allowed it to happen to you. All of it."

Anger glowed like fiery coals in Anna's devastated heart. She looked at Elsa and hated how sharp her eyes were, how Elsa flinched from them.

"You let Hans die. You let me suffer for eight months. Elsa… how could you?"

Elsa continued to silently cry. "I came to Norway in February this year, to be nearer to you. It was so hard, Anna, to know what had happened to you and yet let it be. My Master knew young Lord Galthe's family. He asked me to tend him, to ease his transition to the other world. I'm vaccinated against tuberculosis, honey. I can't contract the disease. Every day as I watched him waste away my mind was on you, the lady in the postcard, the mother of the young man in the hospital tents in France. Even as I silently cursed my Master for making me watch someone die of consumption again, just as my Cati had."

Anna could not think of Elsa's own hurts, her own turmoil and heartache.

She thought of bedsores instead, how they had pulsed with heat and lightning, how they had burst with pus and infection, how she had burned with fever and yet shivered with cold as her beleaguered body fought toxicity and pain, those months after her husband's death.

And her higher self wrestled with a truth deeper than the roots of mountains.

 _Would I have wanted her to save me, to live a life with Hans? The man who misused me, who abused me, whom I loathed?_

 _Without the accident, none of this could have been!_

Anna couldn't help but think of how she and Elsa had made love to each other earlier this very day. In loving each other, and bringing each other release, Anna had rediscovered her own perfection. She had not been made wrong. From the beginning, Anna had been made perfectly, gloriously _right._

In fact, there had been so many experiences shared with her therapist that had shown her the truth about life, about love, about the invisible world. All of them came about because of the accident, and the death of her husband. In losing everything, Anna rediscovered what she had, and who she really was.

Perhaps Anna Arendelle really had died in the wreck. A shadow took her place, occupying her body all those months until Elsa came to her. For Elsa was the catalyst, she alone provided the spark for Anna's resurrection.

For Anna truly felt reborn.

Her heart softened once more to see Elsa's devastated face before her. Elsa had also suffered, terribly, and, on many accounts, all to the eventual benefit of Anna's own family.

Elsa falling on boulders in India. Elsa sewing up the arteries of her beloved son. Elsa's hand on Anna's hip, their first Sunday together, as Anna drowned in agony, the laudanum and Elsa's hand her only anchor. That day, the day the book said Anna died, was the day they finally called each other by their true names.

 _I fear for you, my lady_ , Elsa had whispered that evening, knowing she had to leave to see her dying Master in London.

"When you left me to go to London and see your Master, you said you feared for me," Anna quietly said. "Tell me why. Tell me the truth."

"You seemed to pass through the most crucial point," Elsa replied a moment later. "In the midst of your mental battle that day, you could have slipped from my grasp. You returned to life, and to me, that particular fate passed you by. But I thought of other things that could happen to you, with me so far away and unable to prevent them. Yes, I feared to leave you. I was terrified, Anna, by the thought that you wouldn't be there when I returned."

"I could sense it," Anna said. "You later told me that was the day you started to fall in love with me."

"Yes." A tear slipped from Elsa's eye and slid down her face. She didn't touch it, didn't wipe it away.

Elsa's story, upon the day of their arrival in Scarborough, of falling upon the boulders in India, she had said something that day that now made more sense than ever.

 _I fell for you, Anna, like it was meant to be._

Falling on boulders. Falling in love. Like it was meant to be.

Anna's mind and heart suddenly opened in vast acceptance and trust, as if her great celestial mouth was finally able to swallow everything Elsa had said. However it had come about, it was meant to be. It couldn't be impossible, because Elsa was right here at her side. This woman, whom she cherished and adored, had been born in 1986. And, against all odds, she came to Anna Arendelle, to save her body and soul.

So Anna opened her celestial and eternal mouth and spoke with wonder and reverence, repeating words she had said once before, "Surely God gave you to me, Elsa Wolff."

More tears slid from Elsa's wounded eyes, this time she swiped them away. When she opened her mouth to reply, she very nearly sobbed, "I hope so, Anna. Otherwise, what is it all for? If it's not for you, just who is my suffering for?"

Anna's eyes softened at the naked agony in Elsa's voice. Her heart cracked open, to bleed adoration and honey.

"Imagine it, Anna. Imagine being separated from your loved ones, forever. Imagine being ripped away from everything you know, from everyone you have ever cared for. Imagine a storm, a storm so great and powerful it tears your soul into shreds and throws it into the winds. And though you spend your life searching for every little bit, every little piece that was lost, it is hopeless. Because some things never return. Some things never survive the passage over the endless sea."

Her voice broke on the words and Elsa abruptly got up from the couch. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and took several steps, then stood near the fireplace.

Then there was silence, for a moment, as the fire crackled and hissed. She didn't see Anna stretch out her hand, to attempt to grab her dress as Elsa moved away. She didn't see the agony on Anna's face as her hand closed on air instead of fabric.

Elsa stood by the fire, her hands now closed into fists, her neck lifted to the air, tears streaming down her face. When she spoke, her words went right into the fire, to be caught and consumed like an ancient sacrifice.

"I used to wake up some mornings and forget that I'm stranded here, a hundred years in the past. I would reach for my phone, to check the weather, or send a message to my mom, and see my schedule for the day. Only then would I remember what happened, and I would try not to think of my mom's coffee machine back at the farmhouse, or how we would get burritos from the Mexican place in town and drink Cerveza with lime. I would try not to remember cooking lessons with my aunt; her sushi was always perfectly formed, but my rolls always seemed to fall apart! I would try not to think of crisp winter mornings back in Canada, scraping the frost off the windshield of my car and seeing sundogs hovering in the icy sky. Nor would I think of warm summer nights at the monastery, hearing the monkeys howl in the trees, as I looked at the universe above me and thought it a gentle, benevolent thing."

Elsa finally turned her head, to look back at Anna, as she once again wiped her eyes. The emotion was so raw, so naked that, though Anna could barely understand what Elsa was saying, she knew Elsa was in pain. How she wanted to touch her and comfort her!

"I don't have those days anymore, Anna, waking up thinking that I'm home. Because I'm lost now. Adrift. The waves will never take me back to the shores I knew. Most of the time I can accept my losses, I can accept what happened to me even though I could never understand it. But sometimes… Sometimes, honey, I just want to go _home_."

Elsa abruptly turned away again, covering her mouth against another sob. Her shoulders shook as she tried to restrain her emotions.

Anna furled the blanket away from her legs and then put her hand on the arm of the couch. Setting her feet carefully on the floor, she gathered her breath and her willpower and then she stood up.

Elsa half-turned at seeing this movement from the corner of her eye, and then she burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Anna took a step towards her, and then another. Her legs were perfect, her nerves were a golden web. Elsa had retrieved them for her, had brought them back over the endless sea. Every step she took towards her lover was Elsa's gift to her.

 _I am alive!_

And then she took the last best step, and took Elsa in her arms. Elsa stayed closed up like a fist, her hands still over her face as she sobbed, even as Anna stood there, holding her tight. Anna didn't care that her lower back squealed with sudden pain, nor that she hung on to Elsa, needing just as much support as she gave.

"Some things can't be undone," Anna whispered. "No matter how hard we wish for them."

Leif and his legs. Heidi and the Spanish Flu. Even Hans and that stray cow on the tracks.

Elsa remained rigid against her, shaking like a leaf tossed in a storm.

Anna stroked Elsa's back, and then held her waist even as she opened her mouth and whispered, "You are not adrift, Elsa. You will never be lost again. I am your home now, darling. I am…"

"… you, you are the only place I want to be," Elsa whispered, finishing the sentiment she had spoken the night she had returned from London.

Elsa then took a few deep breaths, and finally put her head against Anna's neck, and wrapped her arms around Anna's body. As sensitive and courteous as always, she then lifted Anna slightly, helping take the burden of Anna's weight from her legs. She continued to weep a little while longer, her chest heaving in her distress. But then she quieted even more, and her breathing slowly became regular.

She suddenly lifted her head and stared at Anna with love and admiration in her eyes. "You're standing."

"Don't be so surprised. It's all your doing," Anna gently teased, as she lifted a hand to cup and hold Elsa's cheek. "You're the one who saved me. You think I don't know who is responsible for changing my fate written in the guidebook?"

Elsa's blue eyes were so soft, so anguished. She lifted a hand to stroke Anna's face. "I knew yours would be a life worth saving," she whispered. "I came to you in August, knowing I had the power to save you. I didn't know, Anna, that you would also save me…" Her fingers drifted to Anna's lips, to lightly trace them. "I've never asked you this, sweetheart. What did you think of me, the first day I came to you?"

"I… I despised you," Anna frankly replied. "I saw you as a destroying angel. The moment we met I knew I could not browbeat you into submission. In you I would find a worthy adversary. You would thwart me in my desire, to end my life and cross the endless sea…" Her legs aching, Anna nevertheless clutched the back of Elsa's neck, bringing her closer. "And now I know the truth. You, my beloved, you came to me across time itself. By all the gods, we… we were truly meant to be."

"You really believe so?" Elsa whispered.

"Yes," Anna replied, before using her hand to pull Elsa's mouth down upon hers. Their kiss was soft and infinitely tender as they used this truth to seal themselves to each other more fully than ever before.

But then Anna's knees began to buckle under the strain. Before she had to say anything, Elsa swept her up and into her arms and carried her back to the couch. She set Anna down among the blanket and cushions and took her place by Anna's side, just where she had always been destined to be.

Just after she set Anna down, the clock began to chime, sounding seven times. "Gods above, what is wrong with today?" Elsa joked, rather nervously.

"Let Kate bring supper, and then we can continue our conversation," Anna suggested. "Elsa, gather up these things and hide them. Then go wash your face. You look horrible." Elsa momentarily grinned at Anna's frank words. Kate really was a remarkably prompt girl. They had perhaps five minutes before she would arrive with their dinner.

"Anna, do you really believe…"

"Yes, I believe you. Go. Wash up. Come back. We will continue this conversation, I promise you."

Elsa began putting these strange things back into the strange bag. Anna's eyes lingered on the guidebook. What else would it say about her and about her family?

 _The fall of Barony Skaldenfoss…_

Elsa pecked her on the cheek before she rose and disappeared into her room. The moment she was gone, Anna smoothed her dress over her knees. She looked about the room and saw nothing out of place. Elsa reappeared, only to disappear into the bathing chamber to wash up.

Anna heard sounds from the bathing chamber even as she heard the knock on the door and the distinct clink of keys at the lock. "My lady?" Kate asked as she opened the door.

"Good evening, Kate," Anna replied. "Come in, please."

Kate bustled through the door with the tray and went immediately to the dining table to set it for them. Anna watched as the maid competently set the napkins and cutlery, the wine glasses and the extra small plate, before setting down their meals. Two flasks of wine accompanied their dinner, a white and a red. Anna looked at the covered trays of food and realized that she was ravenously hungry.

Kate came to the lounge next, to refresh the fire before clearing away the tea. She curtsied to Lady Skaldenfoss before retreating, locking the door once again behind her.

Elsa crept back into the room, the bag swung over her shoulder by one strap. She carried it with distinct ease; it fell from her shoulder as with ancient body memory. Her face was still a little pale, though it was now scrubbed fresh and clean. As she stepped forward, Anna hoisted herself into her wheelchair, movements now practiced and smooth, not like her first attempt that had landed her with a lightly sprained wrist. Elsa quickly stepped forward to wheel her to the table. She took off the lids and inhaled. "That looks good," she said, looking at the poached fish with roasted potatoes and steamed greens. "Let me guess, the one with extra greens is for me?"

"Just as the doctor ordered," Anna replied. Elsa set down the bag by the table and sat down next to Anna and began to eat. Anna's mind flooded with questions.

"What did you say you used to make with your aunt? Su… su something."

"Sushi. She was from Japan and married my mother's brother. She was an excellent cook. They lived nearby, only a hundred kilometers away. We saw them often."

"You call a hundred kilometers nearby?"

"This was the Canada of my youth, honey. The car and highways made everything close. Cars could easily travel 120 kilometers per hour. Even faster, though that was illegal."

Anna stared at her again, as if seeing her for the first time. She had so many questions that tripped over each other and fell in groaning heaps on her tongue. So Anna began to eat, as slowly and carefully as she had been taught all the long years of her life. She was a lady, she had been born to noble parents in the year 1867.

And her lover, Elsa Wolff, had been born in 1986, over a hundred years later.

Elsa ate slowly as well, carefully picking the thin bones out of the fish and scraping away the cream sauce, which she wouldn't eat. When their plates were nearly empty, and the silence grew a little thin, Elsa suddenly set down her fork, wiped her mouth with her napkin, and asked, "Are you all right, Anna?"

"I have a lot to think about, Elsa. And many, many questions."

"But you do believe me, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. You're right, darling, the evidence you have certainly helps. But… how did it even happen? What do you mean about the sea and the lightning?"

All thought of eating vanished as Elsa began to tell the story.

Elsa spoke briefly about going to Europe in 2010, living in Prague for a while before wandering her way to India. She went home to Canada briefly in 2012, but then stayed in India for the next eight years. After her mom sold the farm, Idunn decided to move to Trondheim permanently. "She demanded I join them for a family cruise from Norway to Greece," Elsa mused, twirling her empty wine glass in her hands. "She said I could go back to being a hermit in India afterwards, if that's what I truly wanted. But that it was high time for the family to be together."

So Elsa flew from India to Oslo, there to meet her mom, her brother Ivan and his wife Julie. Their two children had been left with Julie's family in Canada. "We spent four days together in Oslo," Elsa said. "It was wonderful to be with my family again, after so long apart from each other. But by day four, I needed some time to myself. That's when I took the train to Larvik, and bought the guidebook and your postcard."

"Did you see Iskall Slott?"

"I couldn't. It hadn't been maintained well over the years, and only part of it was open for tourists. But the day I went was a Monday, and the part of the castle open for tourists was closed."

Anna's skin raised in gooseflesh to think of her home so run-down, and yet somehow open to tourists. Tourists! What happened to her descendants? Other questions pebbled her tongue, but she swallowed them down, even though they were bitter. She had to hear this story first.

"After that day in Larvik, I returned to Oslo and we prepared to set sail. I had a small suitcase with me, and this bag. Ivan laughed at me as I carefully packed this bag with those things most important to me. I… I wrapped everything in plastic. Triple-wrapped, in fact."

"Sorry. What's plastic?"

"Ah. I'll show you." Elsa rummaged into her bag, going deeper than before. She withdrew an oblong, rectangular black object with a glassy front that was wrapped in a bag made of a clear, thin material. Elsa withdrew the rectangular object and handed Anna the plastic. "As you can see, it's flexible and waterproof, yet prone to punctures and tears. The future world drowns in this stuff." Anna heard anger and sorrow in Elsa's voice.

Anna was curious about this plastic, but more curious about the story, so she gave the bag back to Elsa and waved at her to continue.

"What my brother didn't know is that I am prone to nightmares. And, in the years leading up to this reunion, I had had one particular nightmare more than once. Waves. A frothing, loathsome sea. And lightning. So yes, I ignored my teasing brother and wrapped my belongings in several layers of plastic, just in case."

"Something was speaking to you, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Something was. Of course I believed in the invisible world by then. I had encountered it when I fell in the gorge three years prior and broke my back, only to eventually recover from my injury."

"That's when you broke your back? In… in your time?"

"Yes. Anna?"

"I'm just trying to erase the old to let in the new."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. I understand why you lied. Elsa… you couldn't have told me these things much earlier than today. I needed Scarborough, first. I needed the aurora. And… I needed to fall in love with you. Otherwise… it might have been too much."

Elsa's eyes melted a little, and she reached out her hand. Anna took it, and squeezed it.

"So we got on the cruise ship," Elsa said, continuing her narrative. She described how the ship cast off from Oslo in the evening, and started down the strait. Elsa became sea sick almost immediately, and stayed in her little room while her family enjoyed the view from the deck. "Ivan soon called me to look at something. I came out, and saw a dark bruise on the horizon, a mass of black clouds that swiftly blotted out the sun. The other passengers seemed amused by the oncoming storm. The ship was quite large, and barely rolled in the strengthening waves."

Elsa looked away, and began speaking to the fire in her distress. Anna continued to hold her hand, stroking her with her thumb.

"Only two hours after we set sail, that storm engulfed us. The waves grew incredibly wild, and the ship began to groan. That's when an announcement came, for us to put on our life jackets, just in case." Elsa laughed, but it was a low and dark sound. "My Master had always taught me that the universe would give me what I needed. Not what I wanted. I didn't know that it was my storm. Nor that everyone on that ship would be sacrificed in order to transform me…"

Anna briefly thought of the train wreck, of the other lives lost, other lives ruined, how this accident had served as the genesis of her own transformation.

"I stood on the deck, holding my mom's hand, Ivan and Julie huddled next to us. Everyone was quiet, waiting to see what would happen. Waiting for further instruction."

When Elsa paused, Anna asked, "And what did happen, Elsa?"

"The skies ripped open with rain and wind," Elsa whispered. "And then orange lightning began to strike."

Chaos. Madness. Screaming. The evacuation order was given, so there was a mad rush to the lifeboats. "I held mom's hand as we raced to the boats. I had this bag on my back. We… we didn't even make it to the boats."

Elsa took a shaky breath, and then continued. "Imagine the chaos. The confusion. The noise! The sizzle of lightning, immediately accompanied by cracks of immense thunder. I saw one bolt, my heart. It was orange. And it struck the ship."

Eyes wide open, Anna could nevertheless imagine everything Elsa said. The groans and explosions as the ship broke apart, the waters to flood into the bottom decks, causing the ship to sink faster and faster. Rain continued to pour, lightning continued to strike. Then Elsa was in the water with Idunn, until the volatile currents ripped them apart. "I screamed for her," Elsa whispered. "With her life-vest on, she could stay afloat, but the waves were so awful. Between one surge and the other, she was gone. The sky was black. The water was blacker. I grabbed some debris and tried to stay afloat myself. Just then, a last bolt of orange lightning struck the water a short distance away from me. The electricity surged through the water and enveloped me. I screamed even as I felt it in my bones, in my blood. I think I momentarily lost consciousness. When I came to my senses, I looked back, only to find that the cruise ship was gone. Simply… gone."

Elsa said that she drifted for a time, physically and emotionally spent. The storm quieted very quickly, and eventually the clouds thinned enough to reveal the starry heavens. "The stars were very bright," Elsa mused. "I could see the entirety of the Milky Way. Later, I realized that it must have been the storm itself that sent me back through time, especially that last bolt of lightning that passed right through me. I appeared in the exact same place, only 108 years in the past."

She struggled to shore, dazed and nearly witless. Exhausted, she dropped her life-vest and never saw it again. Her pack was still on her back, however. "I landed at Verdens Ende," Elsa whispered. "I spent that night shivering behind a rock."

Anna cringed to think of how she and Leif had slept warm and safe in their beds that night following the storm. The storm that had brought Elsa Wolff into their world.

 _Lightning is of the gods_ , he had said. _Lightning strikes our towers, and dissolves our structures._

 _And it comes to those who need it._

Lightning had struck both Leif and Anna, yet the remedy to those strikes had also been provided by their loving, benevolent universe, in the form of Elsa Wolff.

Maybe the remedy would always be provided, somehow.

"I hate to think that I slept warm and safe that night, while you were shivering and cold," Anna said, once again caressing Elsa's hand. "Elsa, what a terrible experience you had. But… I can't say I'm sorry for it."

"I'm not sorry for it, either, love. Not with you in my life. But still… I wish I knew if my mom still lived. Maybe my family survived the shipwreck. But there's no way I can know. I will live out my life and eventually die here, forever separated from my family and my time."

"So this is your truth about the book, the sea, and the lightning," Anna quietly said. "Thank you, Elsa, for answering my questions."

...

A/N: As always, thank you for reading, and I would appreciate any reviews or comments you could share. -Jen


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